Uncharacteristic
by AZGirl
Summary: An uncharacteristically quiet day wreaks havoc with Team Gibbs. Probably AU, and might be considered OOC in some parts. Some spoilers from all seasons.
1. Chapter 1: Unnerved

**Title**: Uncharacteristic

**Summary**: An uncharacteristically quiet day wreaks havoc with Team Gibbs.

**Disclaimer**: NCIS is not mine. I'm just borrowing the concepts and characters for a little while.

**Spoilers**: Takes place in season 9. Anything up to and including episode, 9.06 Thirst, is fair game.

**A/N**: No beta so all mistakes are mine.

**ooooooo**

**Chapter One: Unnerved**

**(Wednesday – Ziva's POV)**

It has been quiet all day. In any other place of work this would not have been very unusual, but for this bullpen to be quiet while Tony DiNozzo was in attendance, this was practically unheard of.

But, it was not just quiet; it was unnaturally quiet with an almost palpable amount of tension between Tony and Gibbs. And, for the life of me, I cannot figure out why. We have only been spending the day finishing up paperwork from our latest case and had been lucky enough to not get called out for a new one.

It should have been an easy, relaxed day with Tony doing his usual best to distract us from our work with movie references and practical jokes or the occasional wad of paper flying towards McGee's trashcan. But, there was none of that today.

Today Tony has been unnaturally quiet and unusually attentive to his work. I have never seen him act like this before – and it unnerves me to a degree. More than once I have caught glimpses of Tony glancing over at Gibbs' desk with a look that I cannot quite identify. And every once in a while, I have caught Gibbs giving Tony that same unidentifiable look in return.

If this day was unnerving me, then it was more than likely having a similar effect on McGee. At one point during the morning, McGee had sent me an email asking if I knew what was going on between their boss and Tony. After reading it, I look over at McGee and shake my head slightly before realizing I had more to say. I replied that I had no idea what was going on and asked if he knew anything that could help us figure it out. He did not know any more than I did, but I could tell from his expression that he was very unsettled.

It was at the end of this exchange that Tony suddenly stood up, opened his drawer to grab his weapon, wallet, and keys and announced:

"Goin' for coffee, Boss."

Gibbs' only reply was to take what was apparently the last sip of his current cup of coffee before throwing it away. As Tony leaves, I again catch Gibbs with that indecipherable look on his face.

The whole day was like that – the unnatural quiet, the surreptitious looks – and no matter what I tried, I could not figure out what, if anything was going on.

Then, at exactly 1700 hours – it happened.

Tony's phone begins to ring. And before it could ring a second time, he picks up the receiver. I glance over at Gibbs to see that he is watching DiNozzo's every move. And by the time I look back at Tony, he has already returned the phone back to its cradle.

Tony then looks up from his phone with a completely blank expression. A moment later, he looks over at Gibbs, lifts his chin and jerks his head back a bit. Gibbs nods once and Tony stands up from his desk. He straightens his tie then turns and walks towards the stairs.

Suddenly I knew what the call meant – Tony had been called up to the director's office. Glancing over at McGee, I could see that he was openly curious about Tony's call and what was going on. I was about to ask Gibbs when he quietly orders:

"Back to work."

My mind went into overdrive trying to determine why Tony would be called up to Director Vance's office. Some sort of assignment? Undercover assignment? Re-assignment? Reprimand? Firing? There were too many possibilities and given Tony and Vance's rocky working relationship over the years plus everything that has happened in the last few months, any of those options seemed completely viable.

I steal another look towards our boss. He seems to not be at all worried about this meeting. But, then again, it was Gibbs and he could be having a nervous breakdown and no one would be able to tell the difference.

Less than twenty minutes later, I look up to see Tony quietly making his way across the landing to the stairs. I then look over at McGee and notice he is openly staring at Gibbs. By the time I shift my gaze, Gibbs is shutting his cell phone.

I quickly emailed McGee one word – _Who?_ As I was hitting send, Tony was just starting to sit back down in his chair. That was when I observed the envelope in his suit pocket – an envelope that had not been there before he had gone to see Vance.

For a split second, he had an expression akin to relief on his face before it once again became the blank mask he had been displaying for most of the day. His eyes briefly flicked over to Gibbs before suddenly locking onto mine. I am at a loss to interpret his expression, but it makes me feel uncomfortable, so I break eye contact.

About thirty seconds later, an email came from McGee with one word: _Ducky_.

Ducky? Why would Gibbs call Ducky after Tony got back from seeing Vance?

Maybe I have it all wrong. Maybe Tony was quitting because he is terminally ill? Immediately I decide to not dwell on that possibility for even one second longer.

I was definitely getting frustrated now. What was going on? This whole day had been like something out of that old black and white television show I had watched one night with Abby and Tony – _Twilight_…Hour? Area? No, that is not right. Ah, yes, I remember – _Twilight Zone_. It was like something straight from the _Twilight Zone_, and the only clues I have to figuring it all out were the strange behaviors of Gibbs and especially my partner.

I slam my hand down on my desktop in frustration. My decision was made. Next time Tony goes to the bathroom, I will corner him and demand to know what was going on!

I barely finish that thought when Gibbs' voice cuts through the quiet:

"Alright everyone, go home."

Tony immediately opens his drawer to grab his weapon and other things before reaching over to grab his backpack. As he straightens, I hear Gibbs quietly state:

"Not you, Tony."

Tony? Gibbs never calls him Tony…

I start to wonder if there really was a Twilight Zone and if somehow I had entered it without realizing. I notice that McGee has also stopped what he is doing at Gibbs' statement. Gibbs must have become aware of our hesitation because he calmly, but firmly, orders:

"Go."

It takes a moment for my brain to engage and by the time I think to grab my jacket and bag, McGee is waiting for me. We walk to the elevator together and as we wait for it to arrive, I unsuccessfully resist the urge to turn around and perhaps see why Tony had been kept back.

Tony is standing at Gibbs' desk with his head down not looking at him. He nods two or three times in response to things Gibbs says, but as far as I can tell Tony never says anything in return.

The elevator dings its arrival and McGee and I get in together while he presses the ground floor button. After a moment, the doors begin to close, but as they do I swear I hear Abby and Ducky's voices saying Tony's name in their own unique ways.

Unsure I have heard what I think I have heard, I look to McGee, point towards the elevator doors and ask, "Did you – ?"

"I did. What was going on today?" he said turning towards me. "It was like something out of the _Twilight Zone_."

"Yes!" I exclaimed. "I thought the same thing myself. Tony quiet. Gibbs – more Gibbs-like than usual. Vance asking to see Tony. The envelope in his pocket after the meeting –"

"Envelope?" he queries as the elevator stops and the doors open.

"Yes, a white envelope in his suit pocket that was not there before his meeting with Vance."

"Well, there's nothing we can do about it tonight," McGee declares as we walk through the parking lot to our cars.

"If it is like this again tomorrow, then I _will_ do something about it."

I see that my statement slightly alarms McGee, but all he does in reply is to simply nod.

Having reached my car, I disengage its alarm and smiling slightly say, "Good night, McGee."

McGee gives a small wave, reciprocates my 'goodnight' and continues walking towards his car.

I watch for a few seconds before starting my car and driving away. As I peel out of my parking space, I decide to not let the mysteriousness, the uncharacteristic behavior of the day ruin my evening, but I am equally (if not more) determined to find out what was going on with Tony.

ooooooo

_To be continued…_

**ooooooo**

**A/N:** Anyone want to hazard a guess as to what is going on with Tony?

This is the first time I've written anything from Ziva's POV. How did I do?

_**Thanks for reading!**_


	2. Chapter 2: Unsettled

**Title**: Uncharacteristic

**Summary**: An uncharacteristically quiet day wreaks havoc with Team Gibbs.

**Disclaimer**: NCIS is not mine. I'm just borrowing the concepts and characters for a little while.

**Spoilers**: Takes place in season 9. Anything up to and including episode, 9.06 Thirst, is fair game.

**A/N**: This chapter takes place during the same time period as chapter one but from McGee's POV. McGee has been around longer than Ziva and has experienced more with the team so he sees the day slightly differently. It may not seem like it yet, but there is a point to all this...

No beta so blame my lingering migraine for any remaining mistakes.

**ooooooo**

**Chapter Two: Unsettled**

**(Wednesday – McGee's POV)**

Something was wrong. Tony isn't distracting me from my work, asking for help with his computer, making movie references, or even calling me any new McNames.

Tony was actually doing work for a change. I've only seen Tony be this diligent about doing his work very few times including the time right after we got back from Kate's funeral. It was a nice change, but it also felt very wrong somehow – just like now.

And, Gibbs… Well Gibbs was acting even more intense than usual too – not that it was that easy to tell the difference on any given day.

I'd been noticing the looks Tony and Gibbs had been exchanging off and on and wondered what Tony had done to irritate our boss this time. And, more than once, I'd seen Ziva watching Tony and Gibbs too. As the day wore on, I'm starting to get anxious about what was going on in our normally lively bullpen.

At one point during the morning, when I can't stand it anymore, I send Ziva an email asking if she knew what was going on between Boss and Tony. At first, instead of sending a reply, she looks up and shakes her head before putting it down and typing a reply that basically said she had no idea what was going on. She also asked if I knew anything that could shed light on this mystery, but I'd had to reply that I didn't know anything more than she did at this point – which was apparently nothing.

We were stuck finishing up the paperwork from our last couple of cases unless we got sent out on a call. So I tried to concentrate on my work instead of the seemingly ever increasing tension among my teammates. But, even with the distraction of my work, this day was still leaving me feeling a bit unsettled.

I was just about to email Abby to see if she knew anything when Tony suddenly stood up, opened his drawer to grab his weapon, wallet, and keys and announced:

"Goin' for coffee, Boss."

Gibbs responded by finishing his current cup of coffee before trashing it. Tony must have taken the Boss' actions as some sort of approval because he just turned and left – and Gibbs let him go without any comment.

I couldn't help admiring Tony's timing. As I watched Tony walk towards the elevator, I wondered how he knew Gibbs was almost out of coffee. Maybe it was because the two of them had been working together for so long.

Due to Tony's abrupt departure, my idea to send that email to Abby is totally forgotten.

With Tony and Gibbs exchanging tense looks and Ziva watching the two of them – there was absolutely nothing I could do but try to ride this day out and hopefully survive to see its end.

Then, at exactly 1700 hours – it happened.

Tony's phone rang. And given the day's events, I couldn't help but stop what I'm doing to observe his actions. Unfortunately, I can't hear what Tony was saying, but it was definitely a short call because he hung up the phone before I could even gauge Ziva's reaction to this new development.

Tony sort of stops for a second after he hangs up the phone. Then, I watch as he turns towards Gibbs, lifts his chin, and jerks his head back a bit. Gibbs nods once and Tony stands up, straightens his tie, and walks towards the stairs.

That's when I realize the reason behind the phone call. Tony was going up to see Director Vance. A hundred possibilities spring to mind as to why Vance would want to see the man who was most likely the Director's least favorite agent. But, before I can even eliminate the impossible or ridiculous ideas, Gibbs suddenly orders:

"Back to work."

After a few minutes, I glance in Ziva's direction to see if I can tell what she was thinking, but I can't – nothing new there.

Less than fifteen minutes later, Gibbs getting out his cell phone catches my attention. I have no idea who he's calling and I can't hear any part of the short conversation, but by the time he hangs up, Tony is back at his desk.

I look back at Gibbs and for a split second, and it seems like there is a look of relief on his face, but then the look is quickly gone.

A few seconds later, an email arrives from Ziva with only one word: _Who?_

I assume Ziva is asking me who Gibbs had called. I've no idea who the call was to, but suddenly I have a completely insane idea. And, before I can talk myself out of it, before I let the likelihood of bodily harm change my mind – I hack into Gibbs' cell phone account to find out who he had just called. The day's events clearly have overridden my normally strong sense of self-preservation.

A couple of minutes later, I send my response: _Ducky._

Ducky?

Ziva was obviously not happy with my answer and seemed almost freaked out now. I turned my attention back to my work, but had barely typed a sentence when I hear what sounds like a hand slamming on a desk. From the direction of the sound, I knew it was Ziva and looked up to see that she had gone from slightly freaked out to beyond frustrated. Then, just as quickly, the look changed to one of fierce determination.

It was at this point that Gibbs suddenly says:

"Alright everyone – go home."

I glance at my computer's clock which reads 1727 hours. I also notice Tony immediately starting to gather his stuff. I couldn't blame the senior field agent for wanting to get out while the getting was good.

And, as I didn't need to be told twice, I start grabbing my stuff as well. I was just about to leave when Gibbs amends his previous order:

"Not you, Tony."

Tony? Gibbs rarely calls him Tony!

That realization was the final straw on the day, and it made me stop mid-action. Somehow I'd stepped into the Twilight Zone and hadn't even noticed until now.

Gibbs must have noticed that Ziva and I were not leaving so he calmly, but firmly, orders:

"Go."

I didn't want to risk the consequences of having to be told again so I hurriedly step out from behind my desk. I make my way to Ziva's desk having decided to wait for her – we clearly needed to discuss the strangeness of this day before we both went off the deep end.

Ziva grabs her jacket and bag and then we quickly and quietly walk to the elevator together. I just barely manage to fight off my desire to see Tony get interrogated (or reamed out) about his visit to Vance's office. When the elevator arrives, we step in at the same time and I press the button for the ground floor.

As the doors close, I think I hear Abby and Ducky's voices. I turn to ask Ziva if she'd also heard what I thought I'd heard, but she beats me to it.

She points towards the elevator doors as she asks, "Did you – ?"

"I did," I carefully reply. "What was going on today?" I say as I turn towards her. "It was like something out of the _Twilight Zone_."

"Yes!" she emphatically agrees. "I thought the same thing myself. Tony quiet. Gibbs – more Gibbs-like than usual. Vance asking to see Tony. The envelope in his pocket after the meeting –"

"Envelope?" I interrupt as the elevator stops and the doors open.

"Yes, a white envelope in his suit pocket that was not there before his meeting with Vance."

"Well, there's nothing we can do about it tonight," I try to reason as we walk.

"If it is like this again tomorrow, then I _will_ do something about it," she says almost to herself.

Slightly alarmed by Ziva's intense frustration over the day's strangeness, I decide it's easier to just nod.

We reach her car and I hear its alarm disengage.

"Good night, McGee," Ziva says with a slight smile before getting into her car.

I give her a small wave, and say, "Good night, Ziva."

I continue walking towards my car and barely sit down before immediately starting it.

As I drive home, I decide to do some free writing tonight to help calm my mind over the day's events. I really hope everything – and everyone – will be back to their version of normal tomorrow. For just a brief moment I hope for a new case, but then feel horrible for hoping someone would die just so I won't have to go through another day like today.

ooooooo

_To be continued…_

**ooooooo**

**A/N:** Gibbs' POV is next. Since he's known Tony the longest, it's safe to say he knows more of what's going on with Tony. ;0]

This is also the first time I've written anything from McGee's POV. Did I do OK?

_**Thanks for reading!**_


	3. Chapter 3: Uncommunicative

**Title**: Uncharacteristic

**Summary**: An uncharacteristically quiet day wreaks havoc with Team Gibbs.

**Disclaimer**: NCIS is not mine. I'm just borrowing the concepts and characters for a little while.

**Spoilers**: Takes place in season 9. Anything up to and including episode, 9.06 Thirst, is fair game.

**A/N**: With Gibbs' POV, the timeline of the story starts to expand a bit with the first of the flashbacks and a continuation of the regular timeline. If you read carefully, then you just might spot some more clues as to what's going on with Tony.

**ooooooo**

**Chapter Three: Uncommunicative**

**(Wednesday – Gibbs' POV)**

I'd ended up coming in earlier than was my normal – 0500 hours – because decent sleep had eluded me after Tony had left the night before.

Our 'discussion' last night about what could happen later today had ended abruptly. I shouldn't have pushed him when he was stressing out so much. I know he thinks he's said something to hurt me, something unforgiveable, but that is simply not the case. I had tried demonstrating that by offering him the spare bedroom, but he'd refused and stormed out. I tried calling to him, but didn't go after him thinking that if I did, it would put Tony too much on the defensive and then things would've really gotten out of control.

I'd tried going back to work finishing finalizing the design and plans for my next project, but even that had not helped to calm me. Working on the plans had actually made me feel worse; because now I wondered if I'd even be able to carry them out and give the finish products to their intended recipient.

**(**_**Tuesday Afternoon**_**)**

Earlier in the day, we were in Richmond, Virginia where we confronted and unfortunately had to kill the man guilty of brutally murdering two Marines. We'd been back in the office about an hour, but hadn't yet started doing our paperwork because Tony had decided to be his usual distracting (and if I'm honest), sometimes annoying self.

I'd long suspected and accepted that DiNozzo's antics were just a way to get the team's minds off of whatever crap they'd been through on any given day. I was just about to play my part and yell for them to get back to work, when DiNozzo's phone began to ring.

I looked up in time to see him glancing at the caller ID and was disturbed by his reaction. I doubted that anyone else could tell DiNozzo was bothered – his mask was _that_ good. It was only the long hours spent together over the many years we'd been partners that allowed me to see through to the real Tony from time to time.

As Tony picked up the phone, his posture went rigid and in the end, he said very few words. My senior field agent gave nothing away as to what he was feeling once he returned the phone to its cradle. But, for him to work this hard to not let anything through, then whatever that call had been about, it must be highly disturbing to him.

Tony turned his head to meet my gaze and pleaded with his eyes for me to let the whole thing go without comment. I agreed with a brief dip of my chin, and gave him a look back that said I would let it drop for now, but not for long. Tony's shoulders slumped a bit then he lifted his hand in a gesture of surrender. I knew then that I'd have a visitor to my basement that night.

**(Wednesday continued.)**

I was just starting on my third cup of coffee since arriving, when DiNozzo comes into the bullpen. I watched him stow his things while trying to determine the best time to talk to him. But, before I can talk to my friend, McGee and Ziva arrive and the opportunity is lost.

Unless we got called out, it was going to be a day to finish the paperwork from yesterday's case and any other work that had been left undone due to our recent heavy caseload.

It took me all of three minutes though after the arrival of McGee and Ziva before I realized something was wrong. I felt the unease in my gut ratchet up another notch when I'd become conscious of the fact that DiNozzo was not acting like his usual self.

Normally he'd be distracting his teammates from the tedium of their work, but not today. Today he was too quiet and too focused on his work – much like he was just after we'd come back from Kate's funeral and a few other occasions over the years. I knew it wouldn't be much longer before Tony's unusual behavior would be noticed by the others. And, I knew that this strange behavior would actually be more of a distraction than any of DiNozzo's usual antics ever could be.

More than once I'd caught DiNozzo sneaking glances towards me, but he refused to make direct eye contact. And more than once, I'd glanced over at DiNozzo to gauge my agent's current mood. Tony's expression was so guarded, so neutral, that even _I_ couldn't tell what he was thinking.

I knew that McGee and Ziva had by now caught on to these exchanges, the tense atmosphere, and Tony's unnatural behavior. Both seemed to be slightly off-kilter because of our exchanges and by Tony's actions – or rather, his lack of distractions as the case may be.

During the latter part of the morning, McGee suddenly stopped the rapid typing of his report. From the sounds he made next, it seemed he had started doing something different. Whatever it was, it was done quickly and a few moments later, out of the corner of my eye, I see Ziva look towards McGee and shake her head. She then lowered it and rapidly started typing. I realized that the two must be emailing each other trying to figure out what was going on. McGee finally had been curious enough to see what Ziva was thinking about today.

DiNozzo must have noticed his teammates' actions because he suddenly stood up, opened his drawer to grab his weapon, wallet, and keys and announced:

"Goin' for coffee, Boss."

I picked up my cup of coffee and realized there was only enough for one more swallow. I drain it and throw the cup away letting DiNozzo know I expected him to bring coffee back for me. I watched DiNozzo leave; knowing the anticipation of his meeting with Vance was difficult enough without having to endure his teammates' wild speculation over his behavior today.

I had no problem with Tony taking a break if it helped him keep himself together for the rest of the day. 1700 hours would come soon enough, but would it come before either McGee or Ziva got disconcerted enough to confront Tony? Confronting him when he was in this kind of mood would be a huge mistake and I hoped that the others sensed that.

The coffee break really hadn't helped for long, and the caffeine only served to amp up the frustration and tension I could feel in the bullpen.

Then, at exactly 1700 hours – it happened.

I almost gave myself whiplash in my haste to observe Tony's reactions to what I knew would be a very short call. As predicted, the call was short – lasting a minute at most. DiNozzo hung up the phone with a completely blank expression, which to my practiced eye looked to have an underlying anxiousness to it.

The look lasted no more than thirty seconds before DiNozzo met my obvious stare (or glare, as some might say). He lifted his chin and jerked his head back towards the direction of the director's office. The gestures were unnecessary. They basically confirmed what I already knew – it was time.

I nodded once in acknowledgment hoping my face also conveyed my support of him no matter what was said last night between us. DiNozzo straightened his tie and then made his way to the stairs.

I quickly tramped down all of my emotions over this meeting and forced myself to look and feel relaxed. As I did, I realized that McGee and Ziva suddenly had twin looks of understanding. They now knew where Tony was heading and were each trying to wrap their heads around the idea.

They probably couldn't help but wonder why DiNozzo had been called up to the director's office and I guessed that their imaginations were running amok with the possibilities. In return, I couldn't stop myself from wondering which of the two agents' imaginations were kinder to Tony with the options they'd come up with. Tony and I had some pretty good ideas what the meeting was about, but I'd promised to not say anything or interfere in any way.

Thinking getting them back on task was the best idea, I calmly ordered:

"Back to work."

Less than twenty minutes later, I catch sight of DiNozzo returning from his meeting. I pull out my cell phone and hit the speed dial for Ducky. Ducky immediately answers and without any preamble, I quickly and quietly told the doctor that the meeting was over and to be here at 1730 hours with Abby in tow.

Both Abby and Ducky knew about the meeting and why this week was special. How they had managed to stay away today was anyone's guess. But, knowing them, they'd given their own brand of support to Tony.

I'd sensed that McGee had been watching me the entire time trying to figure out who I was calling and why. As DiNozzo sat, I saw a white envelope sticking out of his suit pocket. There was no way that Ziva had missed that detail.

In the blink of an eye, DiNozzo's expression went from relieved to a perfect mask of indifference. At that look, my gut relaxed its anxious grip a bit. It made me feel some relief as well, but then I quickly schooled my expression.

I thought I saw Tony's eyes flick over in my direction before they purposely caught Ziva's. Ziva tries to hold DiNozzo's gaze, but can't for long. To me, the expression he gives Ziva corresponds to something like 'don't ask if you know what's good for you,' but I have no idea what she saw.

I'd also noticed McGee's look of apprehension as the young agent hurriedly got to work on something. My gut told me this flurry of activity had something to do with my actions as DiNozzo returned from his meeting with Vance. A minute or so later, McGee had apparently shared something with Ziva because she was obviously not happy with what she'd been told.

Tony, for his part, had gone right back to work on his current task as if he'd never left it in the first place. I decided to go by Tony's example and went back to work as well even if it was only for a few more minutes.

Suddenly the sound of a hand slamming on a desk was heard. It was obvious that Ziva had finally reached her limit.

Noticing the time, I realized that I had very little time before Abby and Ducky would be making their appearances. If I was going to keep my promise, I needed to get McGee and Ziva out of here now.

"Alright everyone – go home."

Immediately DiNozzo opens his desk drawer to grab his stuff and his backpack – almost as if he'd anticipated the timing of my order, which he probably had. I recognized by his actions, that he was going to use this opportunity to make good his escape and avoid what he knew was coming. To stop his hasty retreat, I quietly order:

"Not you, Tony."

I see everyone stop at the use of DiNozzo's first name – including DiNozzo. I mentally wince at my mistake knowing how rare it was for me to call DiNozzo 'Tony' during working hours. Realizing the impact of my mistake, I decide McGee and Ziva needed a little nudge to get them back into action:

"Go."

McGee collects his thoughts first and finishes grabbing his stuff before going over to wait for Ziva at her desk. I can too easily guess what the topic of the conversation in the elevator was going to be. Ziva grabs her jacket and bag and they quickly leave while they still could.

As soon as they leave the bullpen, I lift my hand and gesture for Tony to come over to my desk. He drops his backpack and walks over with his head down not daring to look me in the eyes.

"You realize," I begin quietly, "that either Ziva or Tim or both are watching us right now."

Tony nods, continuing to keep his eyes down. I knew that this was not only for the benefit of any potential witnesses to this chat, but for his benefit too. If he looked me in the eyes, he knew I'd know exactly how he currently felt about his meeting with Vance, and more than likely he wasn't ready to talk about it just yet.

"We'll talk later. Dinner. My house. 2000 hours."

He nods again. I tilt my head a bit to try to get a better look at DiNozzo's face.

"You just about drove McGee and Ziva crazy today as they tried to figure out what was going on."

Tony nods a third time, but this time there was a slight smirk on his face.

"And coming back from Vance's office with that envelope in your pocket was almost cruel and unusual punishment."

We're both fighting for control at this point, but fortunately the elevator dings its arrival which meant we'd soon be able to drop the façade. Unfortunately though, right as I see my other two agents get on the elevator and the doors begin to close, Abby and Ducky arrive.

They don't realize that McGee and Ziva aren't quite gone yet, and they enthusiastically greet Tony as if they haven't seen him in years.

"Toooonyyyy!" Abby exclaims as she runs towards him at the same time Ducky says, "My dear Antony."

I'm pretty certain my agents in the elevator have heard Abby and Ducky's voices. I glance over at Tony, who is being crushed possibly to death in one of Abby's hugs. He catches my eye and shrugs – he also thinks they heard but doesn't care. Heck, we might as well give them one more thing to talk about in the elevator.

"Well my boy," Ducky says interrupting my thoughts. "How did it go?"

Still caught up in Abby's hug, Tony squeaks out, "Ab…Abby. Air... Need…air."

I put a hand on her shoulder and pull it back slightly.

She lets him go and contritely says, "Oh! Tony, I'm so sorry!"

Tony adjusts his clothes and uses the time to regain his breath. "It's OK, Abs. It went –"

He pauses, obviously not having had enough time to completely process things yet. "Good," he finally says as almost a question rather than a statement.

"It was fine, Ducky," he adds.

I cringe a bit at that. Something definitely happened in that meeting and it has Tony on unsteady mental ground. He could tell Ducky knew that too.

"Good? Fine?" Abby exclaimed. "That's all you have to say after everything we've all been through the last day. 'Fine' as in you're not fired or 'fine' as in you're not being reassigned or 'fine' as in you're finally going to get the—?"

I'm about to interrupt Abby's ramblings, when Tony puts his hands on her shoulders and gives them a gentle shake.

"Abs! Let it go. It's not important."

"Tony," I say knowing that it _is_ important and that he _does_ deserve the recognition. I'm also pretty certain that there was more to that meeting than he wants to tell us.

"Boss, it's fine because I did get him to grant a request to make up for the lack of celebratory goodness."

He stops there and grins widely looking like he'd pulled one over on the director – which no doubt he did.

Ducky caves first. "Antony, please. Do not keep us in suspense any longer."

Tony puts his hands in his pockets and rocks back and forth a bit while continuing to grin like an idiot before finally revealing:

"I got Vance to pull us all off of rotation for a four-day weekend starting the day after tomorrow."

He looks me in the eye and smirks a tiny bit. That's when it dawns on me. It was only supposed to be Ziva, McGee, Tony, and myself with a four-day weekend, but somehow my senior field agent managed to manipulate things so that Abby, Palmer, and Ducky also benefitted.

I smile back at him. _That's my boy_, I think to myself as he continues his story.

"Unless there's a national emergency…" he went on to say, but Abby suddenly stops him with a hug.

"All of us? What does that mean – 'all' of us?"

Tony extricates himself from the hug and lifts his right index finger to tap Abby on the nose.

"It means, my dearest mistress of the lab, that Team Gibbs, you, Ducky, and even Palmer all have the weekend off. Four days instead of the usual three starting Friday."

Abby and Ducky's surprise then morphs into pleasure and gratitude with them desiring to take Tony out for a drink to celebrate the unexpected boon. Knowing we still have to discuss last night as well as today's meeting, he looks at me asking for permission.

I say, "Go. But, Abs, Duck – he's to be at my house by 2000 hours. Got it?"

"Of course Jethro. We will have a small celebratory libation and have him on his way in plenty of time."

Abby gives me a hug and says, "No problem, Bossman."

She grabs Tony's arm and the three of them head towards the elevators. As the doors close, my gut churns a just a little bit because I know Tony hasn't even told us even half of what happened in that meeting. He was in there nearly twenty minutes, and I have the feeling that something unexpected happened or was said. I just hope that Tony will open up to me and tell me what he and Leon discussed.

I look at my watch and see that I'm losing precious minutes worrying about something I can't currently do anything about. I quickly grab my things and head to the elevator while making a mental checklist of what I need at the market.

Despite the anxiety and intensity of the day and the unresolved tension between us from the night before, it _was_ a special occasion and I intended to buy the best steaks and fixings I could find for our dinner.

ooooooo

_To be continued…_

**ooooooo**

**A/N:** I'm very aware that a good portion of the story is repetitive, especially some of the dialogue. But, I hope you'll stick with it as each of the remaining chapters has new scenes beyond the timeframe you're already familiar with.

All mistakes continue to be my fault.

_**Thanks for reading!**_


	4. Chapter 4: Unbalanced, Part One

**Title**: Uncharacteristic

**Summary**: An uncharacteristically quiet day wreaks havoc with Team Gibbs.

**Disclaimer**: NCIS is not mine. I'm just borrowing the concepts and characters for a little while.

**Spoilers**: Takes place in season 9. Anything up to and including episode, 9.06 Thirst, is fair game.

**A/N**: Due to the length of Tony's POV, I decided a long time ago to divide this chapter into two parts. Therefore somewhere around 90% of this is new to you, and Tony's view of Wednesday will be in chapter 5.

**ooooooo**

**Chapter Four**:** Unbalanced, Part One**

**(Wednesday – Tony's POV)**

Standing in front of the elevators, I wait for a car to take me to what could possibly by my doom – one way or another – by the end of the day.

I'd delayed coming here as long as I'd dared, but judging from the other cars in the parking lot; I still got here before McGee and Ziva.

When the ding of the elevator announces its arrival on my level, I almost turn around to head back to my car. But, DiNozzos don't cower, so I take a deep breath and punch the button for my final destination as I enter the elevator car.

No matter how I look at it, today is going to be a day from hell. Last night in Gibbs' basement didn't go so well, and then to make matters worse, I'd insulted him saying something I didn't mean and will always regret before leaving without apologizing. A stellar ending to yesterday's banner day.

_**(Tuesday Afternoon)**_

We'd finally found our prime suspect in the brutal killings of two Marines, but he'd decided he didn't want to go to jail and had tried to take on four highly trained federal agents. It wasn't immediately clear which of us had made the kill shot, but my money was on Gibbs.

We'd only been back in the office barely an hour, and in that time I'd been pestering McGee and Ziva with idle movie references and the occasional flying object. Killing someone, even in the line of duty, was difficult so I did the only thing I could do and distracted them from the crappy end to yet another difficult case. We needed a break – some days off, but unfortunately that wasn't going to happen any time soon.

I'd just finished purposely missing throwing a paper wad into McGee's trashcan, when my phone rang. Glancing at the caller ID, I had to really work hard to keep myself calm and collected on the outside while I positively freaked out on the inside.

It was Vance's secretary.

_Crap! What did I do now?_

I pick up the phone and couldn't help myself when my body decided to come to complete attention. Vance's secretary, Pam, was calling to inform me that the director would like to see me the next day at 1700 hours. I told her I'd be waiting for her call, thanked her, and said goodbye.

I forced myself to not react at all, but even still my mind was racing. I felt eyes on me and turned to meet Gibbs'. I silently pleaded with him to let the whole thing drop knowing as I did so, he wouldn't do it. He knew the call had upset me and he wanted to know why.

He surprised me by agreeing, but let me know he wouldn't let it go for long. There was no point in trying to get out of the conversation so I lifted my hand in a gesture of surrender (or was it submission?). Well, at least talking in Gibbs' basement was better than here at the office. If the others knew what was going on, then I could just imagine a day full of torment from them tomorrow.

_**(Tuesday Night)**_

After Gibbs finally let us go for the night, I went straight home, but once I got there I couldn't bring myself to hurry back out the door. Why was I having such a hard time telling Gibbs about that phone call?

I mean, how can the king of talk be afraid to spill his guts to a functional mute? He's my mentor, my friend, and my… Well, it's best not to let my thoughts stray in that direction. Hell, all he's got to do is glare at me, say maybe three words, and I'll be telling him everything including how freaked out about it I am.

I changed my clothes from my pristine suit to a pair of jeans and a slightly rumpled button front shirt. I might as well be comfortable for the interrogation, uh, discussion with Gibbs.

Then, in order to prevent the inevitable for just a little longer, I made myself dinner. Of course, once I started trying to eat the delicious-smelling meal, I lost my appetite after the first few bites. The potential consequences of the next day's meeting and my impending talk with Gibbs were canceling out my desire to eat.

Once I cleaned up my kitchen, I realized that I could not come up with any other believable ways to procrastinate. In the end, I realized there was one more way to delay – take the long way to Gibbs' house while obeying every single traffic law to the letter. I managed to make the trip take almost twice as long as usual.

After a few minutes spent collecting my shredded thoughts and emotions, I finally get out of my car and head towards Gibbs' front door. I decide as I enter his house to stop being stupid, and I force myself to stride quickly and confidently across the house to the basement door.

At the top of the stairs, I expected to see Gibbs working on some new project – perhaps yet another boat. But instead, he's sitting at his workbench drawing in a notebook. It's not what I expected, but I can roll with it. There are other ways to distract Gibbs.

"I'm not late am I?" I ask interrupting his work.

"Nope," he says as he shuts the notebook and sets it aside.

Uh-oh. Undivided attention. He knows! He knows what the call was about and he wants to prepare me for the worst! I take a deep breath and try to distract him from my sudden panic.

As I make my way down the stairs, I tease, "Admit it. You were ten minutes away from calling me to hurry my sorry butt over here ASAP, weren't you?"

"Five," he returns playing along, but his tone is impatient.

I sit on the stool he undoubtedly set out for me ahead of time and blurt, "Director Vance wants to see me tomorrow at 1700 hours."

Suddenly I can't bring myself to look in my mentor's eyes because I'm a little afraid of what he's going to say next.

"You think it's going to be something bad, don't you?"

Huh… Maybe Gibbs doesn't know about why I'm being called to the Toothpick's office.

"You don't know? That means it's even worse than I thought…"

I get up and start pacing back and forth the length of Gibbs' basement and I'm suddenly glad there isn't a boat there to impede my progress.

"The first time Vance and I meet face-to-face, it's practically over Jenny's dead body. Getting a director killed kind of makes for a very bad first impression, don't you think? And then he transfers me to Agent Afloat with only a few hours' notice to pack and make the ship on time.

"He thinks I'm incompetent and my file probably makes him wonder how I'm still employed after having botched so many cases." As he starts listing incidents, he ticks them off on his fingers. "La Grenouille and Jeanne, not knowing suspects were killers, being accused of murder however many times now, releasing a plague virus into the building, the recent Phantom 8 mess with Cade and E.J.… Did I mention Jenny? He's going to fire –"

I stop at the sting to the back of my head. I'm about to complain, but he cuts me off:

"You done?"

I rub the back of my head and consider some kind of defiant answer, but I know another head slap will be in my immediate future if I do. Instead, I nod.

"He's not going to fire you," he calmly states.

"How can you know that?" I ask as I walk back to sit on the stool once again.

"My gut."

"No offense, Boss, but your gut could be wrong this time," I say and sigh heavily. "Vance hates me. Hates the type of agent I am. In his mind I'm not even a 'proper' agent."

There is silence as Gibbs just sits on his stool and looks me in the eyes – what he's looking for or what he sees, I have no idea, but I hold his gaze. Suddenly he gets up and steps into my personal space.

"Director Shepard _ordered_ you off her protection detail and she _ordered_ you undercover to use Jeanne to get to La Grenouille. And you were under orders from Jarvis with the Phantom 8 case. What happened in those situations was _not…your… fault_. Are you listening to me, Tony? Not. Your. Fault."

I hesitate a moment and then nod, saying the only thing that comes to mind, "Got it, Boss."

Even though Gibbs says it's not my fault, I can't help but still feel guilty over what happened. Gibbs sits back on his stool and we sit in silence once more.

"Fine. He's not firing me," I begin and stand, starting to pace again. "I doubt it's going to be an undercover assignment if you're not in on the meeting. I think Vance considers it more trouble than it's worth if you're not informed. And let's face it; he does think I'm incompetent so I won't be part of his protection detail.

"You'd tell me if I'd done something to get myself into trouble; wouldn't you? What am I thinking? You'd probably head slap me silly or into a coma if I'd done anything so bad that it warranted being called up to the 'Principal's' office.

"Reassignment? He's already done it once to get me out of his sight. He could take me out of the field completely this time and tie me to a desk to maybe try to get me to quit.

"I still had several months left to go as Agent Afloat so he could force me to finish that assignment even though it's been a few years now. When that's done, he could refuse to transfer me back to your team or even back to D.C. Then he'd be free to promote McGee, and place someone he thinks is a 'proper' agent on your team.

"And, if he does fire me… I can't go back to being a cop. Given what happened earlier this year in Baltimore, I'm not positive they'd even take me back. Even though the commanding officer I'd arrested was a murderer. There's no way I'd go back to Philly either, and no thanks to Peoria. So, where would I go?

"I definitely don't want to work with Fornell – even if the FBI would hire me. In any case, I'm pretty sure Vance could fix it so no alphabet soup agency would want to hire me.

"What am I going to do, Gibbs?" I practically yell as I run my hands through my hair in an effort to calm down a bit. I go back and drop back down onto the stool. "I love my job and work for you as your senior field agent. I can't imagine – don't want to imagine – what it would be like without you, uh, I mean without the team in my life.

"Maybe I could finally use my Phys. Ed. degree somehow…though I think it'd just about kill me to not be a cop of some type anymore…"

I fall silent and after a few moments realize that I'd been talking non-stop for some time now – and Gibbs didn't once interrupt my tirade. I look up and meet his gaze. He's got this odd expression on his face – something of a cross between amused and exasperated, I think. It's a look I've seen most often when he'd been talking recently with either Abby or Ducky.

I need some distance between us so I go to sit on the basement stairs. Maybe Gibbs is only tolerating me and is happy for the opportunity Vance is going to present him with. He could promote Tim and get someone more qualified on his team. I bring my arms to rest on my knees then drop my head onto my arms. I sigh heavily and try to stop myself from thinking what's already half-way been thought.

Maybe he doesn't want or need me around anymore. _Oh God, please – not again_.

While thoughts of a bleak future continue to go round and round in my head; I suddenly feel a light tap on my head. I look up and see that Gibbs has somehow managed to sit next to me on the steps without me noticing. I then feel his hand slide down to the back of my neck which he squeezes gently.

"No matter what happens at that meeting tomorrow, just remember that I won't let you go without a fight and I'd never abandon you or not have you in my life."

He gives my neck another gentle squeeze before letting go and patting my shoulder a couple of times. He gets up, walks over to his workbench and takes a sip of whatever is in his coffee cup giving me time to consider what he'd just said to me.

And, I honestly don't know what to think about what I've just heard. Gibbs would never lie to me about something like that so I know he meant what he said, but it's still difficult to believe my gruff, tough, Marine boss would ever feel that way about someone like me.

He takes another slow, deliberate sip of what could only be bourbon out of his cup before stating, "You do realize that you haven't even considered one possibility yet."

I run through the list of possible scenarios in my head – did I miss one?

"Yep," he replies and I wonder if I said that last bit out loud.

"Do you know what today is?" he asks.

"Yeah, it's Tuesday. So?"

He gives me that half-amused, half-exasperated look again. "Not the day. The date. What's the date today?"

I glance at my watch and almost give myself a head slap for forgetting the anniversary of one of the most important days in my life. Looking back at Gibbs, I see his smirk, but he's also waiting for my answer.

"Today's the anniversary of the day you strongly hinted, by giving me my first head slap and quoting Butch Cassidy, that I should join NCIS."

"And how long ago was that?" he queries.

I think for a moment and am shocked to realize… "Has it really been that long?"

He nods while saying, "Do you know what usually happens when an agent has been with a federal agency for this long?"

I shake my head in the negative.

"For an agent's ten year anniversary, there is usually a ceremony and celebration to recognize your achievement. You also get the ten-year pin and a small bonus check."

"So, you think that's what the meeting is about? My ten year anniversary?"

"Why not?"

"Say we run with that scenario…. He's more than likely going to tell me that he doesn't want to have any sort of celebration for fear of it turning into some rowdy party. He'll probably even tell me they're going to hold off the ceremony until our next full agency awards where you'll likely get your eighth, ninth, or whatever Meritorious Civilian Service Award which you won't be there to collect." I stand and lean on the bannister. "And, when I collect it for you like I always do, I'll look like even more of a narcissist than I usually do because then I'd be turning right back around to collect my ten-year pin!"

I stop with my back to Gibbs while trying to calm my breathing.

Gibbs' voice then quietly fills my muddled mind, "You deserve to be recognized for your achievement."

I turn back around and say, "Maybe."

"There's no 'maybe' about it. Ten years as a field agent given the world we live in today is definitely something worth celebrating."

"Vance probably wouldn't agree with you on that. He'd rather ignore the whole thing considering that it's me, and this meeting is a perfect way to do it!"

"I won't let him," Gibbs says with a tone that could cut glass.

"No, Boss. Don't. You and Vance… Have been on shaky ground for a while after I thought you were finally coming to an understanding, getting along. I'd rather not screw up things even more between you and him or jeopardize the team in any way. His support of you and the team in general is way more important than a stuffy ceremony."

"But, Tony –"

"No! Promise me, Gibbs. Promise you won't interfere. Please."

"Okay. I give you my word that _I_ won't interfere," he finally says and I get the feeling that somehow there'll still be interference.

"Gibbs don't you dare get anyone else involved either! I can handle this on my own. I don't need you to fight my battles for me. You're my boss not my father, so stay the hell outta my life!"

I stop, shocked at what I'd just said. I didn't mean that… I could never mean that! Gibbs has only ever supported me, taught me how to do this job and his rules, treated me like I…. How could I say something so hurtful to him? And, I have hurt him, if I'm reading the expression behind the stoic façade he's now presenting me.

I need to get out of here before I say something else I'll regret for the rest of my life – before I lose everything important to me.

I turn so I can start up the stairs, but Gibbs voice stops me. "It's late," he begins as if I just haven't figuratively driven a knife in his back. "Why don't you stay the night and we can pick this up again tomorrow morning?"

What? He wants me to… Stay the night? How can he even be around me after what I've just said? I can't do it. I can't stay the night. I don't want to start tomorrow with another argument. I don't want to hurt Gibbs any more than I already have tonight.

I almost miss one of the first few steps, but I catch myself and hurry up the stairs. In as calm a voice as possible with my head down – there's no way I would be able to look at him right now – I decline his offer. "No. Thank you for offering, Gibbs. See you tomorrow."

As I exit the basement door and enter the kitchen, I hear Gibbs yell, "DiNozzo, wait!"

Now I've done it. He rarely calls me by my last name outside of working hours. I pick up my pace and get out of his house as fast as I can. As I start my car, Gibbs is just coming out his front door.

Driving away from the house, I wonder at my ability to screw up everything good in my life.

ooooooo

_To be continued…_

**ooooooo**

**A/N:** I have no idea what federal agencies actually do about milestone anniversaries, so I hope you'll forgive any inaccuracies.

BTW, this story is already complete. Very rarely do I post any WIPs. Chapter 5 will be the last of the POV chapters that revolve around the Wednesday timeframe you've already read about and are familiar with. After that, four more chapters to go…

_**Thanks for reading!**_


	5. Chapter 5: Unbalanced, Part Two

**Title**: Uncharacteristic

**Summary**: An uncharacteristically quiet day wreaks havoc with Team Gibbs.

**Disclaimer**: NCIS is not mine. I'm just borrowing the concepts and characters for a little while.

**Spoilers**: Takes place in season 9. Anything up to and including episode, 9.06 Thirst, is fair game.

**A/N**: At the half way point, I'd like to thank all of you who have read, alerted, favorited and reviewed this story so far – _**Thank you! =]**_

**ooooooo**

**Chapter Five**: **Unbalanced, Part Two**

**(Wednesday – Tony's POV)**

I didn't imagine today would be any better than yesterday or even last night. Paperwork was awaiting us unless we caught a case, and too many hours of anticipating my meeting with Vance. Oh joy. Good times ahead.

I really, really wish the meeting was earlier in the day. But, if the reason for the meeting was the worst case scenario – firing – then, I think I'd rather it be at the end of the day. There would be fewer people to see me escorted out of the building. Fewer people to see my disgrace and humiliation.

With all the thoughts running through my head, I didn't even notice that I'd walked out of the elevator and to my desk. I glance at my watch as I sit down and see that it's just a couple of minutes shy of 0800 hours.

I know Gibbs is lying in wait, with his ubiquitous cup of coffee – watching me and waiting for the right time to head slap me unconscious because of the disrespect I'd shown him last night. Or, perhaps he'll do Vance's job for him and request I be transferred off his team and to somewhere he'll know I'll absolutely hate.

In the meantime, I'm praying my teammates are both on time as I especially don't want to get into it with Gibbs this morning – it was the last thing I needed today. I can tell he is about to say something, but thankfully the elevator dings and McGee and Ziva walk out. Saved by the bell – literally.

Normally, on any other given day, I'd be my usual annoying self, but I just don't have the mental energy to do that today. The wide variety of reasons for today's meeting keep intruding upon my thoughts. And thanks to the many movies I've seen, I've already come up with multiple possible responses – some realistic and others not so much – to each scenario and keep thinking of more. I'm still pretty freaked out about what's going to happen later, but hopefully I can handle whatever Vance throws at me – good or bad. Well, maybe except the possibility of being fired.

Add to that the unresolved tension between Gibbs and myself, the lack of decent sleep last night, and the stack of paperwork awaiting me… I realize that there's no way I was going to be able to be my 'normal' self today. It's going to be difficult enough to keep myself on task with my work. So I'm not going to even try to do 'normal'.

I feel sort of like I did when we first came back from Kate's funeral. I'd overcompensated and went into emotional lock-down becoming hyper-focused on my work. I knew I wasn't quite that bad today, but sooner or later McGee and Ziva were going to notice my altered behavior. I just hope they back off today and don't try to confront me because I so don't need that today. It's a no-brainer that Gibbs has already noticed, but then again he has the inside track given what occurred last night.

Every once in a while, I can't help myself and I glance over at Gibbs, who tries to make eye contact with me, but I refuse to give in. From time to time, I feel Gibbs' eyes upon me and get the feeling he's trying to gauge my mood. His attempts only serve to make me even more determined to not let my nervousness and anxiety show.

I know that, by now, my team has realized that I'm not being my usual self today. Gibbs at least knows basically why I'm being like I am today, but McGee and Ziva have no clue. And, as far as I know they have no idea about the meeting. I can almost guarantee that they either don't know or remember about the significance of this week.

Only Gibbs and Ducky were there at the time, but Abby came along soon after and always seems to remember these kinds of things. If the rest of the team did know or remember, would they even care? Or, would they give me crap about it? Tim and Ziva both seem to sometimes think that I'm not the sharpest tool in the tool shed, so I wouldn't be surprised if I was mocked rather than congratulated.

A side effect of the day has been the distractions McGee and Ziva have been providing as a result of my unusual behavior. McGee is really starting to fidget under the imagined strain of the day. I chuckle to myself at the thought of him thinking it was about time I did some work for a change.

Hmm…

McGee has stopped his report and from the sounds I'm guessing he's sending an email. Three guesses who it's to and what, or rather who, it's about. Great. It's started.

I really don't need this…

Before I can finish that thought, out of the corner of my eye I catch Ziva looking over at McGee before shaking her head. Then, she puts her head down before furiously beginning to type. Well, at least I have confirmation that neither of them know what's going on or about the meeting.

And that's the only good thing about this crap of a day though I know I shouldn't be thinking that way considering…

I take a surreptitious glance at my teammates. McGee and Ziva are looking both unnerved and frustrated. I really didn't think my not being my usual annoying self would affect them like this. I would think they'd be grateful for the change!

Seriously! What the hell?

They complain when I act up and they practically freak when I don't. I really don't know what to do. I just can't be my normal me today. This week, plus my meeting with Vance…

I just can't –

I need to –

Without really thinking, I stand up and open my drawer to grab my stuff, before blurting:

"Goin' for coffee, Boss."

I know Gibbs can see right through me to the real reason I was going for coffee despite my best efforts to hide what I was thinking. He made sure though I knew I wasn't to be gone too long when he finishes his current cup of coffee before tossing it in the garbage can. Refill expected.

_No problem, Boss_, I think before leaving.

Getting out of the office those scant minutes were just what I needed, but the calm I'd managed to find was short-lived once I returned. Though it did keep Gibbs' caffeine levels up so at least somebody benefitted.

Thank God for Abby and Ducky though. For, without them, I don't think I would have made it through today. They knew what this week was and through Gibbs they knew about my meeting with Vance. They wisely stayed away from the bullpen, but off and on throughout the day, they'd sent me emails which served to help keep my mind off my teammates' activities and what felt like my impending doom. They'd chosen to believe that nothing bad was going to happen to me in that meeting.

Then, _finally_, at exactly 1700 hours – it happened.

My phone stared to ring. I barely let it get through one ring before I picked up the receiver. It was Pam, Vance's assistant, calling to let me know the Director was ready to see me now. I told her I'd be right up.

Pure panic starts racing through my mind and I fight with all I have to not let it show on my face or in my actions. Though I know there is at least one person in the room who could probably see a hint of what I am thinking and feeling.

Speaking of…

I look over towards Gibbs and meet his blatant stare (or was it a glare?). I lift my chin and jerk my head back in the direction of the director's office. Totally an unnecessary action, but I felt that I should at least confirm what my boss already knew.

It was time.

He nods once in acknowledgement. It seems like he's also letting me know he's there for me, but I'm having a hard time at the moment thinking of anything other than my upcoming meeting.

I stand up and straighten my tie before heading towards the stairs. It occurs to me that McGee and Ziva are probably just now figuring out what that call meant. As I head up the stairs, I can't help but wonder what kinds of scenarios they're dreaming up and if any of them are anywhere near what the truth will turn out to be.

Once I reach the top of the stairs, I start walking towards my doom. Huh.

_Dead Man Walking_. That's what I am.

Great film though. 1996. Directed by Tim Robbins. I guess that makes me Sean Penn's character, death row inmate Matthew Poncelet, as he's walking to his death by lethal injection. My walk to Vance's office just might equate to my 'death' at this agency. I hope not.

Reaching Pam's desk, I wait as she informs the Director of my arrival. He must have told her to let me go right in because she just says; "Go right on in, Agent DiNozzo."

I plaster the brightest of my smiles on my face and thank her before heading to the closed office door. I take a deep breath and knock on his door as I enter.

Is this the end?

ooooooo

Less than twenty minutes later, I'm leaving the director's office with a pristine white envelope in my hand. I smile and nod a goodbye to Vance's assistant before heading out of her sight as quickly as possible without looking like I'm trying to leave as quickly as possible.

As soon as I'm on my own, relatively speaking, I take another look at the envelope. It's unremarkable except for a few words on the front. The fancy type face reads: _Anthony D. DiNozzo, Jr._

Even though I know what's inside it, the envelope reminds me of the meeting I just had with Director Vance. My mind almost draws a blank when thinking about it. In fact, I really _don't_ know what to think about what had happened – what had been said…

Maybe later I'll be able to go there, but it was just too much to think about right now.

I slowly continue on my way down the hall leading towards the staircase giving me time to put myself back together. I could put the envelope I'd just received out of sight, but I suddenly have a better idea. One that I know will probably drive Ziva crazy. I grin big and put the envelope in my side suit coat pocket where I know it will likely be seen.

I resume my walk to the stairs thinking that if I can just keep up this façade just for a little bit longer, then this seeming never-ending day will finally be over.

As I reach the landing, I see Gibbs hanging up his cell phone. Given what time I left the director's office, I'd estimate we had about ten minutes before he lets us go for the day. It probably also meant Abby and Ducky would finally be making an appearance in the bullpen today.

I mentally groan as I leave the staircase and head towards my chair. _Maybe I can still escape_, I think as I sit down, and for a moment, I'm incredibly relieved to have that meeting behind me. Though, to be honest, it did actually manage to surprise me a bit. I had no idea…

I flick my eyes over to Gibbs and realize he's probably dying to know what happened. Then, sensing Ziva's gaze on me, I lock eyes with her. I send my best "don't bother asking, so back off" glare at her, and she eventually breaks eye contact first. I'm not completely convinced that she actually got the message, but I could care less right now.

Once Ziva takes her eyes off of me, I go straight back to work. Only I'm not really working. I'm actually using the time to surreptitiously straighten up my desk and shut down my computer in anticipation of when Gibbs gives the okay for us to go home. I really don't want to debrief the meeting with Gibbs or talk about last night, so escape becomes my priority.

Barely a minute or so into this task, I hear a hand slamming down on a desk. From the direction the sound came from, I can tell that it's Ziva. Glancing her way, I see this look of determination on her face. Uh-oh. Why do I suddenly get the feeling that I should be avoiding men's restrooms for the foreseeable future?

Judging by the clock, this outburst couldn't have come at a better time. Gibbs is going to need to get McGee and Ziva out of here before Abby and Ducky arrive so I'm thinking he'll be letting us go home in – five… four… three… two…

"Alright everyone – go home."

I knew it! Well, I was off a second, but close enough in this case.

Immediately, I stand and open my drawer to grab my things as quickly as I can. As I grab my backpack, I begin to believe that I might just be able to get away when Gibbs amends his previous order:

"Not you, Tony."

Did he just say…? Crap! Gibbs must be more distracted than I thought. He rarely, if ever, calls me Tony during working hours. I bet he's mentally head slapping himself for that slip up right about now.

Gibbs' next command breaks into my thoughts and apparently McGee and Ziva's as well:

"Go."

McGee evidently recovers first and waits for Ziva before they leave together. _I bet I know what they're going to be talking about_, I think to myself.

As they leave the bullpen, Gibbs beckons me over to his desk. I let my backpack drop to the ground and go over there not daring to look him in the eye.

"You realize," Gibbs quietly begins, "that either Ziva or Tim or both are watching us right now."

I nod and keep my eyes down. I only have to keep up the act a little longer. McGee and Ziva's elevator will be here soon and then I can be myself again.

Or can I? Gibbs will want to talk about my meeting with Vance and I don't know if I can do that yet. As if reading my thoughts, my mentor offers me a temporary reprieve:

"We'll talk later. Dinner. My house. 2000 hours."

Dinner? Maybe he's forgiven me for what I said last night. No. No. It's more likely he doesn't want witnesses to the torture before he gets me to reveal every single minute of what went on in that meeting. Can't wait.

I swallow the lump in my throat – was that my heart? – and acknowledge his invite (or was that an order?) with a nod.

"You just about drove McGee and Ziva crazy today as they tried to figure out what was going on."

I nod once more in response while trying not to smirk too much. Who would've thought being quiet could be so disruptive?

"And coming back from Vance's office with that envelope sticking out of your pocket was almost cruel and unusual punishment."

I can tell we're both fighting to keep control, but thankfully the elevator dings and my unintentional tormentors will be gone soon. Unfortunately though, Abby and Ducky choose that exact moment to arrive.

"Toooonyyyy!" Abby happily exclaims while continuing towards me with her arms outstretched in ready-to-hug position at the same time Ducky says my name the way only he can, "My dear Antony."

And then I'm enveloped, 'crushed' is actually more accurate, in one of Abby's hugs. Gibbs catches my eye and I shrug. So what if McGee and Ziva heard – it's just one more odd thing that's happened today that they can discuss in the elevator.

"Well my boy," Ducky says interrupting my thoughts. "How did it go?"

Abby is still hugging the life out of me, literally – I can barely breathe.

"Ab…Abby. Air... Need…air," I rasp-squeak out in an attempt to get her to back off.

Suddenly air fills my lungs as I hear Abby contritely say, "Oh! Tony, I'm so sorry!"

I adjust my clothes and use the time to convince my lungs that air is a good thing.

"It's OK, Abs. It went—"

My mind goes blank. How _did_ it go? I'm not sure yet. I finally decide on: "Good," which sounds more like a question than a statement.

"It was fine, Ducky," I add.

"Good? Fine?" Abby practically yells. "That's all you have to say after everything we've all been through the last day. 'Fine' as in you're not fired or 'fine' as in you're not being reassigned or 'fine' as in you're finally going to get the—?"

It's my turn to mentally head slap myself. I should have known better than to use the words 'good' and 'fine.' Abby won't ever let this go, if I don't stop her now. I put my hands on her shoulders and give them a gentle shake in an attempt to get her to calm down.

"Abs! Let it go. It's not important."

Gibbs admonishes me with a simple, "Tony." I know he knows there was more to that meeting with Vance than even we had anticipated.

"Boss, it's fine because I did get him to grant a request to make up for the lack of celebratory goodness."

I grin widely hopefully conveying that I actually did manage to get something I wanted from the meeting.

Ducky can't help his curiosity, "Antony, please. Do not keep us in suspense any longer."

I put my hands in my pockets and rock back and forth a bit – all the while I continue to grin like a conquering hero. I decide to end the torment before a head slap comes my way:

"I got Vance to pull us all off of rotation for a four-day weekend starting the day after tomorrow."

I look Gibbs in the eye and can't stop myself from smirking just a little. What I'd said in Vance's off was the truth and besides Abs, Palmer and Ducky work just as hard as the rest of us and also deserve the time off.

Gibbs smiles back at me and I know he's figured out at least some of it. There's an odd quality to his smile that I've only seen a few times. _I wonder what it means._

Collecting my thoughts, I continue, "Unless there's a national emergency – "

Suddenly I'm cut off by another of Abby's wonderful hugs – at least this time I can breathe!

"All of us?" she asks. "What does that mean – 'all' of us?"

I extricate myself from her hug and tap my finger on her nose.

"It means, my dearest mistress of the lab, that Team Gibbs, you, Ducky, and even Palmer all have the weekend off. Four days instead of the usual three starting Friday."

It was great to see Abby and Ducky go from surprised to overjoyed in just a few seconds. Barely a minute later Abs and Ducky, without any input from me, have decided that they're going to take me out for drinks to celebrate. I look to Gibbs for permission knowing he probably still wants to yell at me for disrespecting him last night.

He says, "Go. But, Abs, Duck – he's to be at my house by 2000 hours. Got it?"

"Of course Jethro. We will have a small celebratory libation and have him on his way in plenty of time."

Abby gives Gibbs a hug and confirms, "No problem, Bossman."

She grabs my arm and the three of us head towards the elevators. I realize as the elevator's doors close that Abby and Ducky will both be grilling me for the whole story about what happened today. I think I can keep them distracted enough so that they don't push too hard for the scoop.

But, if that fails, then I can say I promised to tell Gibbs everything first. Which, in a way, I did promise when I accepted his invitation to dinner.

ooooooo

_To be continued…_

**ooooooo**

**A/N:** This is the last of the POV chapters that revolve around the Wednesday timeframe you've already read about and are familiar with. If you thought a certain scene was missing, it's not. Look for it in chapter six on Wednesday.

_**Thanks for reading!**_


	6. Chapter 6: Unburdened

**Title**: Uncharacteristic

**Summary**: An uncharacteristically quiet day wreaks havoc with Team Gibbs.

**Disclaimer**: NCIS is not mine. I'm just borrowing the concepts and characters for a little while.

**Spoilers**: Takes place in season 9. Anything up to and including episode, 9.06 Thirst, is fair game.

**A/N**: Tony's dinner with Gibbs and his meeting with Vance. I hope they don't disappoint.

**ooooooo**

**Chapter Six: Unburdened**

**(Wednesday Night – Tony's POV)**

The second I open my car door, I can smell it. Steak. Steak and… I sniff the air again.

Ah. Steak and baked potatoes. _My favorite_, I think as I'm walking up the path towards Gibbs house.

I stop in my tracks at the thought of what happened here the night before. I don't deserve a nice steak dinner. What I deserve is a head slap so hard that it knocks my head clean off my shoulders.

I shouldn't have said what I'd said last night. Gibbs has only ever been the best mentor and partner that a cop or agent could ever ask for. He always has my six and last night I let him down by not having his.

And yet, all day today, it never seemed that Gibbs was anything but concerned for me. He was even supportive of my impromptu coffee break and had Abby and Ducky up to the bull pen just in case the meeting hadn't gone well.

Maybe Gibbs _wasn't_ angry with me after all. Or, maybe he's just biding his time and will give me the dressing down of my life after I tell him what he wants to know about my meeting with Vance.

I'm just about to start walking again when the front door suddenly opens.

"Are you going to stay out there all night? Get in here. It's 2000 hours and dinner's ready."

Gibbs leaves the door open knowing I'll follow, and after a moment, I do.

I step in and close the front door behind me. As always, there's the ubiquitous smell of coffee permeating the house. Aside from dinner and the coffee though, there's an underlying sweet smell I can't quite identify but is definitely familiar.

Dessert?

Since when does Gibbs do dessert? I'd expected just a steak cooked cowboy-style and some beer, but now there was not only a steak but also a baked potato and some sort of dessert!

No, no, no. Not good. Not good at all.

Gibbs is being nice!

That's never a good sign. I must be in more trouble than I thought. I sigh heavily and walk into the living room just as Gibbs is coming out of the kitchen carrying a plate with two foil-wrapped potatoes. He deposits a potato onto a plate at the head of the dinner table and another onto a place setting to the left of it before continuing to the fireplace to retrieve our steaks.

I stand there dumbfounded because I can't get past the fact that we're actually going to eat at the dinner table. I can't remember _ever_ doing that before.

What the hell is going on?

Gibbs walks past me again, this time with two nice-sized steaks on a plate and heading towards the dinner table.

"You comin'?" he asks throwing a concerned look over his shoulder.

"Uh, yeah," I intelligently reply and start taking off my coat as I amble over to the table. As I lay it over the back of the chair, I'm fighting hard not to let my flight instinct take over.

"Beer?" he queries as he drops a steak onto my plate.

I nod, evidently too freaked out by Gibbs' behavior to say much right now. I can't handle it when Gibbs is nice and he knows that. Bastard. I thought torture was against the law.

As Gibbs sits, he sets an open beer next to my plate as well as a dish of butter and a small one of chives.

Now he's taking the nice routine just a little bit too far… Putting out my favorite baked potato toppings? Considering the fact that he probably has guessed that my nose has picked up the fact that there is dessert for later – he just _has_ to know he's gone too far.

Definitely a bastard.

Well, two can play this game. I say "thank you" and begin politely and slowly eating my meal. Normally by now I'd be talking about our current case or the last movie I'd seen, but tonight I knew Gibbs was trying to get me to tell him every last detail of my meeting with Vance – and I'd decided that I was going to make him wait.

I'm pretty sure he's at least partly forgiven my outburst last night though I'm still waiting for my well-deserved head slap.

But, if he can attempt to mess with my head with the 'being nice' act, then I can try to mess with his head by being overly polite and quiet.

About half-way through our meal, I realize that there is no way I can win this game. Not when playing against the 'King of Quiet'. We both know he's going to get me to talk, no matter how long I resist. It's inevitable.

We finish our dinners in relative silence, and I think for a moment that I've won a small victory – it's probably been since I was a kid that I was mute during a meal. I absolutely detested the lack of noise, the stillness of my house after my mother died. It seemed so very wrong back then…

Pulling my thoughts back to the present with a shake of my head, I realize my quiet is actually more of a win for Gibbs. He likes the quiet; I can't stand it. I mentally sigh and wonder if I shouldn't just tell him everything now and get it over with.

Suddenly a cup of coffee and a plate of a six chocolate chip cookies appears in front of me. My head snaps up from the plate and I know I'm not hiding my surprise at the items now before me.

Gibbs asks, "You with me now?"

_With him? Where did I go?_

"You kind of zoned out there for a couple of minutes."

Seriously. How does he do that? I _know_ I didn't say that last bit out loud.

"Uh. Yeah. I'm with you."

"Good. Now eat."

I grab one of the cookies on my plate and take a bite. The cookie is still a bit warm and the chocolate chips are still gooey. They taste just like the ones my mother used to make me when I was very young – four or five years old, I think.

I know now they were from the tube of pre-made dough you can buy in the store – just like these are – but at least she made the effort once in a while.

Great. Just what I need now is more memories from that time and of a person I miss so much sometimes that it almost physically hurts.

But how could Gibbs know? The answer is: he can't. I've never told anyone about this and I never make them myself. In fact, I've not even had them in hand since one of my high school girlfriends made them for me, so there's no way he could know about my mother's cookies.

And yet, somehow, he picks the one dessert I can't bring myself to eat. I know Gibbs doesn't believe in coincidences, but we've definitely stumbled upon one tonight.

I couldn't eat them back in high school and I can't do it now. The memory of those rare times my mother baked me cookies are for me alone. Eating them now with Gibbs would taint the memory – even though I trust him with more than my life.

I set the half-eaten cookie down on my plate and take a large gulp of coffee to mask its taste. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Gibbs doing something I never thought I'd see: he was dunking his cookies into his coffee before eating them.

My Mom used to do that too.

I tear my eyes off what would normally be something to laugh at and focus on drinking my coffee. Gibbs is down to three cookies before he notices I've not even finished my first.

"You don't like them?" he casually asks.

"No. I like chocolate chip cookies. It's just these…" I trail off. I don't really want to tell him, but I feel like I need to somehow explain.

"It's OK, Tony. I think I get it," he tells me as he takes up both our plates and heads towards the kitchen. The funny thing is, I think he _does_ actually get it.

Gibbs comes back out of the kitchen with the coffee pot and refills each of our mugs.

"You ready to talk?" he queries as set the coffee pot on the table and sits down.

"What no torture?"

"I thought my being nice _was_ torture to you."

_Touché_, I think to myself and smile.

"Yeah, well. We both know what I really deserve is the head slap of all head slaps from you or worse for what I said to you last night," I reply.

"And what did you say last night to make you think you deserve punishment?"

What the – ? Oh. I get it. He wants to rub my nose in it first. Fine. I can take it. I have before and this time I really do deserve it.

"I was disrespectful to you and told you –"

"Tony. Stop," he says as he moves his hand towards me. I close my eyes and cringe in anticipation of the well-deserved head slap, but instead I feel a warm hand gently grab my shoulder.

"Look at me," he quietly orders.

I comply and he gently squeezes my shoulder.

"Don't worry about last night. You were worried about today and didn't mean what you said. Am I right?"

I nod and try to swallow around the lump forming in my throat. He smiles before moving his hand off my shoulder and squeezing my neck before getting up and heading towards the couch.

What did I ever do to merit someone like Gibbs in my life?

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, then go to join Gibbs. I guess it's time to tell him about my meeting with Vance.

_**(Wednesday Afternoon – Just a few hours ago)**_

As I enter the office, I hear Director Vance say, "Agent DiNozzo, have a seat."

I shut the door and head towards the seat Vance is indicating at his conference table. Nothing in the Director's voice, posture, or anything else about him is giving me the slightest hint as to what direction this meeting is going to go. I know everything about him, how he is acting, is meant to put me at ease, but it's definitely _not_ working. I know what the man is really capable of doing.

I allow myself to sit back in the chair and at least appear comfortable – but not too comfortable. I don't want Vance to ever think I don't respect him, because believe it or not I do. Trust in him, on the other hand, is something I'm still working on.

Director Vance has yet to say anything else to me; instead he has opened a thick file and is perusing its pages. I'm assuming it's my file, but Boss says to 'never assume' so I'm trying to not jump to any conclusions especially when Vance is involved.

Several minutes later, the Director is still going over the file and I'm starting to wonder if he called this meeting just to torment me. I know it's a game, and it's one I've played variations of before in the interrogation room. But, the way he's playing right now makes me feel as though I've never properly learned the most basic of rules.

I force myself to not fidget and to maintain an outward appearance of calm even though I'm anything _but_ calm on the inside. To help keep my focus, I start trying to count the number of pages in the file. But, before I get very far, Vance finally stops flipping through the file and closes it.

He clears his throat and raises his eyes to meet mine. Am I finally going to be put out of my misery as to the reason for this meeting?

"Agent DiNozzo, I see from your file that you've been with NCIS for nearly ten years now."

He pauses, and I do the only thing my brain can think to do – and that's to nod.

"Are you aware of what usually happens when an agent reaches their tenth anniversary here at the agency?"

Usually? Oh.

"Yes, sir. I've witnessed what happens multiple times over the years."

Vance nods briefly. "Due to budget cutbacks, we can no longer afford to have a ceremony and get together for each individual agent who achieves a milestone anniversary with us. Therefore, it has been decided that we will award you your ten-year pin at the next full agency awards ceremony. And, regretfully, beginning next year there will no longer be any reception held after the ceremony.

"I know this may seem like you're being treated unfairly compared to other agents who've reached this milestone, but believe me when I say you are not being singled out. I have several other agents I must meet with in the near future to whom I must break the news to as well. I'm sorry Agent DiNozzo, but unless the economy turns around, this is the way it has to be."

By the time he's finished speaking, I've had a little bit of time to recover from my relief that I'm not going to be fired or reassigned so I'm able to nod and say, "I understand, sir. Thank you for informing me personally."

"You're welcome. And now I'd like to discuss the other reason I asked for this meeting."

With those words, it suddenly feels as though my stomach has dropped down around my feet.

Other reason?

I force myself to keep breathing and to not pass out in front of my boss, er, my boss' boss – whatever.

"Other reason, sir?" I manage to get out without humiliating myself right there in front of the man.

"Yes. Aside from your abbreviated stint as Agent Afloat, you've been assigned to the D.C. field office your entire career, isn't that correct?

I swallow against the sudden dryness in my throat and reply, "Yes sir, it is."

"Your file indicates that Director Shepard offered you a lead agent position in Rota several years back. An offer which you turned down."

I'm really feeling nauseous now, which should seem impossible since my stomach is still down at my feet.

"Yes, that's correct. I did turn that offer down."

"May I ask why you turned it down?"

"I had my reasons, Director."

"Would you mind giving me an idea of the nature of those reasons?"

"My reasons were of a personal nature, sir, and I'd prefer not to share them if that is alright with you."

"That's fine, I understand. The reason I ask is because a lead agent position has opened up at Pearl Harbor, and I believe you are the right agent for the job."

I'm amazed I don't feel any pain from my jaw dropping and hitting the conference table.

"Job?" I ask uncertain I've heard correctly.

"Yes, DiNozzo. I'd like you to consider taking over the MCRT team at Pearl Harbor. The current team's lead agent is retiring, but his senior field agent is too inexperienced to step up to the plate. I'd like to offer that opportunity to you."

"Me?" It seems intelligent answers are a bit beyond me at the moment.

Vance smirks, "Yes, you. You're more than qualified. Ten years as a federal agent in the field with eight of those as senior field agent. You even led your own team for several months while Gibbs was on extended leave.

"Granted, you aren't exactly my definition of the ideal agent considering the fact that you lack many of the technical skills required for today's agents. But I've come to believe that one's ability with computers and other technology cannot replace the need to rely on your instincts while on the job or the ability to read people. _You_ have both those qualities, and thankfully the other members of the team at Pearl more than make up for your lack of tech skills."

He smiles at his little joke, while I'm just sitting here trying to hold myself together. Me? Lead at Pearl? Live in Hawai'i – the home of Magnum? While that would be great, how could I leave D.C.? Leave Gibbs' team? Leave my…my…family?

Vance must sense my indecision because he says, "I'll give you some time to think about it. Just let me know one way or the other by the beginning of next week."

"I don't need any more time Director," I blurt without thinking of the possible ramifications. "I'm going to have to decline your offer, but very much appreciate you considering me for the position. It means a lot to me."

"May I ask why you've declined the offer without really taking the time to consider it?"

"Personal reasons."

"Are these 'personal reasons' similar to those you had for declining the position in Rota when Director Shepard offered it to you or why you didn't pursue Agent Barrett's former assignment not too long ago?"

"Similar? Yes, you could say that. If anything, they are more refined or better defined than they were then."

Vance leans back in his chair and just gives me this look – like maybe he's searching for something. No more than a minute later, he smirks that irritating know-it-all smile of his and leans forward again, resting his arms on the table.

"DiNozzo, you do realize that by continuing to decline opportunities such as this to move up the ranks, that you might never be anything more than a senior field agent?"

"I'm aware."

"Hypothetically, if there was one promotion you _would_ take what would it be?"

"I think you know," is my simple reply. I really do think he's figured it out by now.

"That position might not be open for quite a while yet, and even then there are no guarantees."

"I'm okay with that."

Vance smiles a genuine smile and says, "I thought you might say that."

He leans back in his chair again and huffs out a laugh. "If he ever finds out about this, he's going to head slap you into next week."

"The only way he's going to find out is if one of us tells him and I'd consider it a favor if you never told him."

"You have my word. Besides, I don't think I'll have to worry about telling him. I'm betting he'll get you to do it before the sun rises again tomorrow."

He grins and I let out a small laugh, "You're probably right. I can almost feel the sting on the back of my head now."

We both fall silent after that. For a brief moment, I wonder what he's thinking, but a part of my tirade from last night pops into my head.

"Sir, may I make a request?"

"Go ahead," he replies with a slightly wary but curious tone to his voice.

"I would like to request that my anniversary _not_ be recognized in any formal way. In fact, I'd prefer it if you didn't mention it all to anyone else."

Just as I expected, Vance seems surprised by what I just said. His surprise then turns into skepticism, "Can you give me a good reason why I should grant this request?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me."

His icy tone makes me pause. Maybe I will be fired after all.

"I don't want the recognition," I say locking eyes with him.

The Director's disbelief is written clearly all over his face. "But you always – "

"That's different," I begin hoping he'll understand. "It's for Gibbs' sake and the teams' that I do that. I'd really rather skip the unnecessary recognition of my surviving ten years with this agency if that is at all possible."

Vance's face gives away nothing as he gets up from his seat and heads to his desk. He opens a drawer and takes out a crisp, white envelope.

"Does that desire to go unrecognized extend to your bonus check?" he asks as he heads back to the table and handing it to me before returning to his seat.

"No. No." I smile. "I'm more than happy to recognize the bonus."

He smiles in return. "It was yours regardless. I was planning on giving this to you before you left today. I know you didn't officially start with NCIS for another two weeks, but I do recognize the importance of this week.

"The pin will take a little longer as each one is engraved with each agent's initials."

"That's fine."

"When is the next time your team is to be off rotation for a weekend?"

"I believe a month from now."

"I'll tell you what. How about I move that up to this weekend and make it a four-day weekend for you and your team starting Friday?"

I'm semi-shocked by what the Director has just said – an extra day off sometime in the future had been one of the very remote outcomes of this meeting that had occurred to me in the last twenty-four hours. I just didn't think it'd really be offered. But I'm not so shocked that I'm not willing or able to take advantage of the situation.

"You do realize that Gibbs considers Abby, Ducky, and Palmer as part of his team. Is there any way you can extend your offer to them?"

Vance looks annoyed but resigned to the fact that I'm right about whom Gibbs considers part of his team. He doesn't look too against the idea, but you never know with a man like him.

"That's acceptable. Unless there is a national emergency, your team plus Ms. Sciuto, Mr. Palmer, and Dr. Mallard are off rotation for four days."

"Uh, sir, quick question?"

He nods.

"If the budget is so tight, how come you're willing to give seven people an extra, paid day off?"

Vance smirks and cryptically replies, "Director's prerogative."

_Oooo-kaaay_, I think to myself, before deciding to drop the subject.

"Anything else, Agent DiNozzo? I'm expected home shortly."

"No sir. Except to ask if I might be the one to tell the team the news?"

"That's fine," he says as I stand to leave.

Vance walks up to me with his hand extended. As I grab it to shake it, Director Vance says, "If you won't accept recognition publically, then I'd like to at least congratulate you privately."

"Thank you, Director. I appreciate that."

"Have a good night, DiNozzo," he says as I reach door.

"Thank you. You too," I reply as I open the door and step out of the office with much more than I bargained for going in.

ooooooo

_To be continued…_

**ooooooo**

**A/N:** Gibbs' reaction is in the next chapter which should be out on Friday.

_**Thanks for reading!**_


	7. Chapter 7: Unsure

**Title**: Uncharacteristic

**Summary**: An uncharacteristically quiet day wreaks havoc with Team Gibbs.

**Disclaimer**: NCIS is not mine. I'm just borrowing the concepts and characters for a little while.

**Spoilers**: Takes place in season 9. Anything up to and including episode, 9.06 Thirst, is fair game.

**A/N**: This chapter is dedicated to _ncismom._ Without her willingness to chat about this part of the story, I don't think I ever would have figured out Gibbs' response – _Thanks!_

Some might consider this chapter to be a little OOC. It is definitely the longest and most emotional. I hope you enjoy it.

**ooooooo**

**Chapter Seven: Unsure**

**(Wednesday Night – Tony's POV)**

Gibbs is staring into the fire as I finish relating what happened in Vance's office. I can tell from his expression that his thoughts are very far away, and I wonder what his reaction to my story is going to be.

I sigh heavily and lift my mug to take a drink of coffee only to discover it's empty and probably has been that way for a while. It's then that I realize I have a more pressing need.

Setting my mug down on the table, I get up intending on taking care of business when Gibbs says:

"You're not leaving." His expresses it not as a question, but as a statement with a tinge of 'that's an order' behind it. And not once does he look my way but continues to gaze into the fire.

I tip my head towards the bathroom and state, "No. Going to the head."

Gibbs nods almost absentmindedly and resumes his silent contemplation of the fire.

ooooooo

Standing at the sink after I finish taking care of my full bladder, I consider Gibbs' immediate reaction to what I'd told him had happened during my meeting with the Director. Upon finishing my story, I had expected disapproval or anger or disappointment – not silence.

Gibbs being quiet is nothing new, but to see him being _this_ quietly introspective disturbs me a little. Turning the faucet on, I wash my hands before splashing some water on my face.

"God, I'm tired," I groan out loud to the image looking back at me from the mirror. I dry off and leave my temporary sanctuary heading back towards the living room. Gibbs is not there and I momentarily panic before the logical side of my brain kicks in and says 'basement.'

The coffee maker in the kitchen is off so I deduce that we've moved on to the alcohol-fueled portion of this night. Pausing outside the basement door, I can't decide which I'd prefer seeing: beer or bourbon.

Beer could mean we're not done talking yet, that we still need to maintain some sobriety, but on the other hand, Gibbs might try using bourbon to loosen my tongue about certain things I'd rather not talk about just yet, if ever.

There's just too many possible ways the alcohol could be used so I give up trying to anticipate my boss just this once.

The effects of the cold splash of water to my face have already worn off, but I'm determined to see this through so I push my exhaustion back and head into the basement.

ooooooo

As I enter the basement and stand at the top of the stairs, my eyes automatically seek Gibbs out. The first thing I notice is that there is no alcohol in sight, and I'm a little disconcerted by that. It seems Gibbs is determined for us to remain stone cold sober for this conversation – perhaps one of the most important of my life.

The second thing I notice is that Gibbs is slowly flipping through the pages of the notebook I had observed him working in the night before. I wondered what was in it that could hold Gibbs' attention like that, but decide to let my curiosity go for the time being. Because even though it seemed Gibbs' full attention was on the contents of the notebook in front of him, I was absolutely positive he knew I was standing here.

Descending the stairs, I suddenly had the feeling I was going to my doom, but at the same time my gut was telling me everything was going to turn out alright. I hate it when that happens. I just hope that there wouldn't be too much bloodshed – either physically or mentally – along the way towards either possibility.

I've felt so out of balance the last couple of days that it seemed the only way to be on an even keel once more was to finally lay it all out to Gibbs. To finally confess what he means to me and why I can't leave D.C. or the team. What I'm really hoping for is that my mentor and friend will understand where I'm coming from, that he won't reject me for thinking the way that I do towards him. I would never presume to replace or even share the same heart-space as—

"You going to stand there all night?"

_Stand where? _

I look down to discover that I was so deep in my thoughts that I'd just stopped at the landing. Locking my eyes on to Gibbs', I take a deep breath and descend those last three stairs.

So it begins.

Or ends.

It all depends on what Gibbs and I are about to say to each other. I've no doubt about it.

My feet again stop of their own accord once I take my foot off the last step. I'm not sure if I'm ready to have this conversation or ready to hear what the Boss has to say about my meeting with Vance. I keep expecting the 'Headslap of All Headslaps' (the one that either causes me brain damage or puts me into a coma – or both) to come my way, but it doesn't. Not yet anyway.

So I just stand there and wait. Patience was never my strong suit, but neither has it ever been Gibbs'. I'm pretty sure he'll crack and say something soon.

Eventually Boss tilts his head slightly while giving me this look that I'm having a difficult time deciphering. Then he narrows his eyes and asks a very simple question which he probably knows has an incredibly complicated answer.

"Why?"

For half a second, my mind goes blank and it feels like I'm trying to swallow around a baseball I don't remember having swallowed.

"Why what?" I reply before I can stop my mouth from saying it while my brain tells me I'm an idiot. The look on Gibbs' face matches my internal rebuke. Yep. I'm definitely an idiot.

But instead of the expected explosion Gibbs, for once, cuts me some slack. "Why do you keep turning down opportunities for promotion to team lead?"

In that instant, chickening out of what I'd earlier planned to reveal suddenly seems like best idea ever so I try deflecting.

"Would you let it go if I told you the same thing I told Vance?"

"'Personal reasons'?" Gibbs clarifies.

I nod and have to fight hard not to cringe. There's no way he'll accept that answer, and we've shared too much of our lives with each other for me to even think he should accept that answer.

A second later he proves me right. "No."

Only a one word answer, but with that one word is a tone that demands so much more. I hold up my hands in surrender and pace back and forth in front of the staircase for a minute trying to gather my thoughts. Without really true conscious thought, words begin to pour out of my mouth:

"When Jenny offered me Rota just after you came back to NCIS from your siesta, hiatus, or whatever you call it… It felt wrong to take it even though I'm sure McGee and Ziva, at the time, would've hardly waited until I was out the front door before beginning to celebrate.

"They kept reminding me I wasn't you – and I knew that. I did! …

"You know, I actually blame you for that. You trained me for this job so of course it's going to seem like I'm acting like you. I did try to inject my own brand of leadership into the mix, hence the Campfires. But, even with all that, what I couldn't get past was how you were then.

"Which, by the way, please, please, please don't _ever_ inflict another Wilford Brimley mustache upon your poor team. It freaked me out every time I had to look at it, uh, you.

"Anyway, the way you were acting, the little slip-ups. I knew you weren't 100% recovered yet. My instinct then was to stay close and be there for you and for the team.

"I know you said 'You'll do,' but in reality I didn't feel quite ready to be team lead on a permanent basis. Renny's case definitely proved that. You may not have thought you'd ever come back, but I was almost certain you would when you were ready."

While I'd been talking, Gibbs had reclaimed his seat at his workbench. When I paused in my explanation, he points to the other stool against the wall. I grab it and sit down only then realizing I'd put more space between us that I'd intended.

"And when the opportunity for Rota came up again?" Gibbs asked to prompt me to continue.

"I didn't go for the job for two reasons: it wasn't offered and it's just not where I belong. Besides, I wasn't blowing smoke or lying to Vance when I said my personal reasons are 'more refined and better defined' now than back when Jenny offered Rota to me."

I trail off hoping Gibbs would get what I was trying to say without me actually having to say it. We've managed to connect on that level before, but it seems my friend was purposely not allowing that tonight.

How do I say everything that needs to be said? I'm so tired at this point it was not even remotely funny anymore. Physically tired because of the lack of sleep the night before and emotionally exhausted trying to keep myself from losing it due to the stress of dealing with today. And now, this….

"Tony?"

My head snaps up and when I look across from me, I get the feeling that it wasn't the first time Gibbs had called my name.

"There's more?" he asks, but in such a way that it's not really a question rather a statement of fact.

I nod because, of course, he's absolutely right and he knows it. There is so much more and taking a couple of deep breaths, I begin laying all my cards out on the table. _Now or never_, I think as I gather my courage around me.

"I was eight when my mother died. Senior didn't handle things well – didn't know how to deal with me by himself. His solution was to send me off to boarding school and summer camps.

"It was a lonely existence for a while… Ironically, because of the Stinky John/flagpole incident, I found my way to the first thing I was ever good at – sports. Humor alone wasn't cutting it."

I pause and give him a sheepish smile because Gibbs was more adept than anyone of being able to see past my humor and pranks to the real me. My mentor lifts a corner of his mouth in a partial smirk as if he knows what I was just thinking. And, let's face it; he probably did because he knows me so well. I continue with my story:

"Once he sent me away, I rarely saw him – usually no more than a few weeks a year. We still had some great vacations and not-so-great vacations together, but it always seemed like he was working an angle and not really there to be with me.

"Without my scholarships, I wouldn't have been able to go to college because he basically disowned me and told me I'd have to make my own way in the world. Looking back, I realize now that was probably during one of his lean times and he simply couldn't help me out. Anyway, that's what I like to think happened.

"All throughout college, I barely saw the man and we drifted even further apart. As I think on my life, I get now that we were never really that close. My closest family and it sometimes feels like my father and I were strangers.

"For a while in college, my fraternity brothers were like a family to me. But, over time, most of them have moved on and now have families of their own."

I sigh and look up from my hands into Gibbs' face still unsure if I want to go on but once again he prompts me to continue with a voice I've heard him use with skittish witnesses and scared kids:

"And after college?"

"As a cop, your precinct is often an extended family and your partner sometimes becomes closer than your blood family. But, moving from Peoria to Philadelphia to Baltimore and spending only about two years in each place… Well, I never had the opportunity to really form those bonds. Baltimore was the closest I got and with Danny, I thought I'd finally found a brother. But once he did what he did, it felt like I was all alone again, set adrift in my own life.

"And then, you called and asked (more like ordered) me to come down to NCIS – walked me straight to the Human Resources Department. After FLETC, I found myself assigned to be your probie – thanks for never calling me that by the way – and trying to learn all of your rules.

"We went through teammates like you go through coffee because you're you. But eventually we found Kate. And then, not too long after that, we were lucky to find McGee. Losing Kate was…"

I stop because I can't help but feel her warm blood on my face at that moment. Without any truly conscious thought, I bring my hand up to my face expecting it to feel wet and to come away bright red. But, just then, Gibbs' foot snakes out and barely kicks mine – jerking me back to the present. I give him a look of gratitude which he returns with a slight nod.

"Then Jenny assigned us Ziva. It took a while but she's one of us now – and I don't just mean her citizenship.

"Don't you see, Boss? The team, Abby, Ducky – heck, even Palmer… _All of you_ are my family and have been for a long time now. It's why I went all the way to Somalia, why I helped you take on a Mexican drug cartel, why I would jump into a freezing cold river to save you from drowning.

"_You_ especially are my family. You've taught me so much. Your rules have saved me on more than one occasion. No one else has ever had so much faith and trust in me, nor have they never given up hope on me.

"Ten years, Boss. We've been partners against crime for ten years. And I know you think I'm ready to lead but I'm actually perfectly content to stay by your side, continuing to learn from the best. Continuing to learn how to _be_ the best."

"I don't deserve such loyalty from you Tony. All the times I've gone off on my own and not let you in."

"To protect me. I didn't tell you about La Grenouille or Phantom 8," I remind him.

"You were under orders," he flings right back.

"Fine. We've _both_ made mistakes. The point is…" Panic sets in once again, but I force it back down. "The point is: Kids follow in their parents' footsteps all the time, but you are the only father whose footsteps I ever would wish to follow.

"I know I still have a flesh and bone father, and our relationship is better than it's been in a long time, but somehow _you_ have become the father of my heart. I may have learned the rules, may be ready, but I don't want to leave my partner or my parent behind just yet. And it doesn't feel right leaving the rest of my family behind either.

"I realize that it is probably a bad career choice to keep turning these opportunities down, but I don't care. The only team I'd ever want to lead is this one – your team. But, please do not let it ever be because of your untimely demise due to this job that I take over. I'd much, much rather it be because you're retiring – or forced to retire, as is the most likely future scenario.

"And, if I'm honest with myself, if the higher ups don't give me the team when you retire, I'm not sure I'd stay with—OW! Hey! What was that for?" I ask as I rub the sting from the back of my head.

Reminiscent of that day ten years ago, Gibbs pats my cheek a couple of times before saying, "Rule five."

"I gotcha, Boss, but I don't think I even want to do this job anymore without you by my side."

I'm expecting another head slap but instead Gibbs grabs my shoulder and squeezes it saying, "You can. And you will."

The confidence, reassurance, and something else I can't quite identify in my mentor's eyes convict me. I nod and say, "Yes, Boss."

"Good," he replies with a smile and a nod. "There's no one I'd rather have take over the team than you. Don't ever think I'd have it be any other way."

"Thank you, Boss," I say with what I know is awe in my voice. Wow. The 'Gibbs Seal of Approval.' What more could I want?

"Did Ziva ever tell you what I told her the night you lot revealed the 'perfect' date for me?"

Of course she'd told me and the timing was interesting considering whatever is going on with Abby. She hadn't told me the specifics of what's going on with her saying it was still too new, but Abby did mention that Gibbs had said she had family who would help her through. Anyone could see that Gibbs treated Abby like a daughter. It's always been obvious and I've always been a little jealous of their relationship.

Then Ziva, only a week or so ago drops some new but similar information on me. She tells me, in that overly-smug tone she sometimes adopts, that Gibbs had called her his kid. I was happy for her. I was. Especially given how much more difficult her family life had been than mine ever was. I may have had a lonely childhood, but she was forced to grow up much, much too quickly and around so much violence.

But, I would have to admit, if only to myself that I was jealous he'd said that to her and has never said it to me. I may consider him a father, but that in no way meant he considered me a son. I could accept him never saying anything like that and just continue to think of him as the best partner and best friend I've ever had, couldn't I?

All these thoughts flashed through my mind in an instant as I nodded and said, "Yeah, she did. I think she was still processing what you'd said."

"When Shannon and Kelly were taken away from me, I never thought I'd ever have another chance at having a family. Three marriages and divorces later, it seemed my prediction would hold. And then…" Gibbs pauses and lifts a hand to rub the back of his neck. "Then, I met you and something clicked in my head. My gut told me that you had to be on my team – that we were meant to work together. Once we were working side-by-side, it didn't take me long to figure out why."

When Gibbs falls silent, I worry that he won't tell me why, that he's used up his allotment of words for the year. I reach a hand towards his sleeve and prompt him this time, "Why?"

"Kelly will always be my first born, the daughter of my body, of my heart, and of my soul. But, I've discovered that my heart and soul have room for more." Gibbs stands and steps closer to me before grabbing my shoulders.

"Abby, Ziva, Tim and especially you are all my kids as well. I told Ziva that you're 'never alone when you have kids.' And you, Tony, helped to remind me of that fact. You think of me as the father of your heart, well I think of you as the son of mine. Kelly will always be my first child, but _you_ will always be my second. The one who reminded me it was okay to let someone in again."

I think my mind actually short circuits for I don't know how long. When I come back to myself, I'm doing a pretty good impression of a caged tiger and wiping away a rogue tear that was slowly making its way down my face. Overwhelmed doesn't even begin to describe how I'm feeling at the moment.

What Gibbs has just said is something I've always longed to hear but never, short of a death bed confession, thought I would. My flight instinct is just about to take over when I start having trouble breathing. Suddenly my fath—friend is in front of me with a concerned look on his face. In the next moment I see worry there and then he's manhandling me to sit on the stairs. My head is pushed down to my knees and he wraps an arm around my bowed back.

"Breathe, Tony. Just concentrate on breathing right now."

My mind flashes briefly to a room with blue lights and Gibbs telling me I wasn't going to die. Eventually though, the tightness in my chest goes away and I feel the need to sit up. Gibbs' hand remains flat on my back which provides a measure of comfort. Embarrassed at my inability to control my emotions, I start to pull away from my boss. But he moves his hand up and wraps his arm tight around my shoulders. I chance a glance towards his face and find him smirking at me.

"Now you know why I've always avoided telling you how I felt." He chuckles a bit then continues. "I didn't think either of us would be able to handle it that well. Seems I was partly right."

Gibbs then pulls me closer and hugs me tight. When Senior hugs me, it never feels like this – safety, trust, faith, love, comfort. All that and more in one brief hug. We break apart and Gibbs heads towards his workbench. I think we could both use a drink by now.

But he doesn't reach for the bottle of bourbon. Instead he picks up the notebook I'd seen him leafing through God only knew how long ago tonight. He tosses it towards me and as I catch it, I get a weird sense of déjà vu from the action.

"My next project," my favorite father-figure says and slightly smiles before going for the bottle of bourbon.

I open the notebook and begin leafing through the pages. On them, I see written proof of just how methodical Gibbs is – every single detail is planned out from precise measurements to the type of wood stain to be used to estimates of how long the project will take him to complete. My friend's next project is actually two projects, two pieces of furniture: a coffee table and an end table.

The color choice was a warm chestnut and the design well-suited to Gibbs' taste. In fact, the design reminds me of the bookshelves he built for me after… My head snaps up to find a glass of bourbon in front of my face.

I take it and stare at it dumbly as I say, "Boss…" I stop because for the life of me I can't figure out what to say next. Gibbs though seems to get what I'm trying to say but can't just yet.

"I thought it was time you had some decent tables to go with that nice, new leather furniture you bought not too long ago."

I smile and not just because I know Gibbs heads straight to my recliner every time he drops by my apartment.

"And they'll go perfectly with the bookshelves you made me eight years ago."

Gibbs smiles and sits back down next to me on the stairs. His expression turns apologetic. "Wanted to have them already done, but you know how busy it's been lately."

"S'ok, Boss. Whenever you can finish them is fine with me. I'm going to be around for a while."

My friend shakes his head and huffs out a small laugh. "Yeah, I guess you will."

He lifts his glass, we clink them together in a toast, and each take a generous sip. Gibbs' arm steals around my shoulders once more and I lean in a little before saying, "Ten years as my partner, friend, and family, can you believe it?"

He clinks his glass against mine once again and replies, "Happy anniversary, Tony."

ooooooo

_To be continued…on Sunday._

**ooooooo**

**A/N:** Today is Veteran's Day here in the U.S…. To all those who have served and who are currently serving in the armed forces in the U.S. and around the world –

_**Thank You**__** for your service and sacrifice.**_ _I pray you have a safe and peaceful day._


	8. Chapter 8: Unexpected

**Title**: Uncharacteristic

**Summary**: An uncharacteristically quiet day wreaks havoc with Team Gibbs.

**Disclaimer**: NCIS is not mine. I'm just borrowing the concepts and characters for a little while.

**Spoilers**: Takes place in season 9. Anything up to and including episode, 9.06 Thirst, is fair game.

**A/N**: The main timeline of this chapter overall is of one day, but it also contains four flashbacks and one flashforward. I've tried to be as explicit as possible about 'when' in the story you are and whose POV it is, but you still might really need to pay attention. It was a very complex chapter to write, so I hope I didn't confuse you.

And, my mistake, I thought that chapter seven was the longest… ;0]

**ooooooo**

**Chapter Eight: Unexpected ** (Multiple POVs)

(**Thursday Morning – Ziva's POV**)

I arrive at headquarters the next day about one half hour before our usual start time. I was hoping to discuss with McGee the discovery I had made the night before and whether or not it had any bearing on Tony's odd behavior of the previous day.

_**(Wednesday Night – Ziva's POV)**_

When I had arrived home, I had been determined to not let Tony ruin my night, but it seemed that it was not meant to be. I fixed myself Cholent for dinner, which had only served to remind me of the time years ago when I had invited everyone but Tony to dinner at my place.

I would never admit it to either Tony or Tim, but Tony's behavior today had worried me and I could not keep unpleasant scenarios from coming to mind. I tried relaxing with a hot cup of tea after dinner, but it didn't help and thoughts of my friend and teammate continued to plague me.

I do not know why I did not call first, but I went over to Tony's apartment to make sure he was well and if there was anything I could do for him. But when I arrived at his building, I immediately noticed his car was not parked anywhere nearby. Undeterred, I decide to go upstairs to his apartment anyway. Tony could have gone out and left his car somewhere if he had too much to drink.

Getting no answer after repeatedly knocking, I briefly consider breaking in to double check he was not incapacitated in some way. Fortunately, reason held and I decide not to break in for fear of being discovered and having to explain my actions to Tony, Gibbs or anyone else.

Just because my partner was not answering his door, it did not mean that he was hurt of ignoring me – he simply just might not be home yet or out for the night.

Cursing to myself in multiple languages, I finally think of calling Tony's cell phone, but it goes straight to voicemail. My worry for my friend increases a little because nearly every time Tony has broken Gibbs' Rule 3, something bad has happened to him. And Gibbs would kill DiNozzo if we caught a case and Tony could not be reached.

I decide to return home and hope that Tony arrives safe and sound to the office in the morning or I would hunt him down and cause him harm to sensitive body parts.

**(Thursday Morning continued – Ziva's POV)**

But alas, from the cup of coffee that was still letting off steam and the absence of either Tim or Tony's backpacks, only Gibbs was present so far this morning.

I am in the middle of checking my email and getting rid of the spam – which only God knew why anyone would name a type of email after vile-smelling, non-kosher, pseudo-meat – when McGee comes into the bullpen.

"Morning, Ziva," he greets as he heads to his desk.

I get up to follow him and in low tones we discuss my visit to Tony's apartment, some additional theories about his behavior, and our eventual determination to confront him if yesterday's behavior continued today. I had just begun sharing the idea of using the men's restroom as the best place to confront DiNozzo, when Gibbs materializes from out of nowhere and says:

"Ziva, there are other women's restrooms in the building if ours is out of service."

Not wanting to reveal what Tim and I had been discussing, I simply agree, saying as I return to my desk, "Thank you for the suggestion, Gibbs."

It is about seventeen minutes after our usual start time for the day, when Tony finally arrives.

Before I can say anything, Gibbs gruffly says, "You're late, DiNozzo."

In response, Tony cringes a little and offers, "Sorry, Boss." He pauses and I would almost swear that Tony and Gibbs share this very brief, unidentifiable look before he continues with his excuse. "Somehow I set my alarm for the wrong time and got more sleep than I'd intended."

"Out late last night, Tony?" I ask hoping he will be his usual loquacious self so that I could gain insight into yesterday's actions.

"I had dinner with an old, er…," Tony winces and clears his throat before continuing, "very good friend of mine and we had a great talk about mutual friends, relationships, our jobs – you know, the usual." Shrugging as he turns on his computer, he adds, "I was home and in bed at a semi-decent hour, but somehow the time I set my alarm for changed and I have no idea how."

Tony's gaze flicks towards Gibbs and I turn that way to see that Gibbs has this odd, little smile on his face for a moment before it disappears when he orders, "Finish up any paperwork you guys have outstanding until we get called out."

None of us questions that order because not getting called out yesterday for a new case was the exception and unfortunately not the norm.

So far this morning, despite the odd look between Gibbs and Tony, I feel like things have more or less returned back to what is normal for us. Only time will tell if that remains the case.

(**Thursday Mid-Morning – McGee's POV**)

As another wad of paper missed its target – namely the waste paper basket beside my desk – and skidded to a stop next to my keyboard, I almost missed the quiet of yesterday.

"To-nyy," I growl lowly.

"Sorry, Probie. Guess my aim is off today."

"Well then, why don't you throw your trash into your own garbage can instead of continuing to miss mine?" I return as calmly as I can.

"It's more fun this way, McKilljoy."

"Right," I grit out knowing that short of any intervention from Gibbs or from a new case that I would just have to endure DiNozzo's usual antics.

Usual antics? Hmm…

I guess whatever was bothering Tony yesterday, whatever had been making him act so strange, must have been resolved. I wonder if Ziva has noticed that DiNozzo seems to be back to normal today. Hopefully she's still not considering cornering Tony in the men's restroom when it's obvious he's back to being his usual, annoying self.

A quick email will answer that question. As I wait for a response, I marvel at how much DiNozzo as Senior Field Agent goofs off and yet never gets in trouble for not getting his work done. Ziva's reply comes before I can contemplate the mystery any further. She agrees that Tony seems himself today and that possible intervention by us is no longer required. Mentally, I give a huge sigh of relief. Those men's room confrontations can get really awkward sometimes.

Returning back to my work, my thoughts drift back to this previous night.

_(__**Wednesday Night – McGee's POV**__)_

I had settled down for the evening to free write some dialogue-only pieces, but I kept getting distracted by thoughts of how odd and tense the day had been. I had this urge to call DiNozzo in order to check on him, but every time my finger hovered over the 'send' button, I'd lose my nerve.

Several times during the night I did this and each and every time I did not let the call go through. Oddly enough though, I eventually go this feeling that I didn't need to worry about my friend anymore and was finally able to get a lot of writing done.

And if my teammates never found out that there was a short one-shot about Lisa being determined to find out why Tommy was acting so strange, then so be it. I'd probably live longer if they didn't know about that.

(**Thursday Mid-Morning continued – McGee's POV**)

I was just about to hit 'print' on my last report when Gibbs' phone rings. He answers with his customary, "Yeah, Gibbs," and then listens for a moment before hanging up.

As he gets up out of his chair and grabs his service weapon out of his drawer, he says, "Gear up. We have a dead Admiral in Arlington."

At the word 'Admiral' my heart skips a beat or two before I register the location of the victim. Not my dad, I reassure myself as I bend down to grab my backpack. As I come from behind my desk, Gibbs must have noticed my moment of near-panic because he briefly pats my shoulder a couple of times in passing. Exiting the bullpen, I notice that Gibbs' gaze flits over to DiNozzo, but before I can see Tony's reaction or get any idea of why, he's reaching for his own pack.

We process the scene thoroughly, but from Ducky's preliminary comments about the body and the testimony of this wife who had found him; it's more than likely Admiral Joseph White died in his sleep of natural causes. I felt bad for Mrs. White that she had to come home from a visit to her first grandchild to find her husband dead in their bed. I could only hope my father will pass just as peacefully when the time comes – many years from now.

Tony thankfully restricted his inappropriate comments to the admittedly tacky décor as they all worked the scene. Once we returned to the office, we each set about checking into the Admiral's background on the remote chance Ducky's initial observations and Gibbs' gut were wrong. If Ducky determines the cause of death to be natural causes, then all we have to do is write up a final report to close the case.

When Gibbs returns to his desk after what I presume to be visits to both Abby and Ducky, his desk phone rings. I just manage to catch him saying, "…be right up" as he hangs up the phone. Boss looks annoyed so I keep my head down but curiosity grabs hold and I watch him go upstairs probably to report to Vance about the Admiral's death.

Given the day's case, it's extremely difficult _not_ to think about my dad. Finally reconnected after seven years of silence between us. I wonder if it's not too soon to call him again. I think I need to hear his voice so I that I can know for sure that he is indeed still alive and kicking.

Just then a wad of paper hits me in the head. Not really in the mood, I'm about to lose my temper with Tony when he asks for help with his computer.

It's not until later that I realize I wasn't connecting Admiral White's death to my dad anymore.

(**Thursday Midday – Gibbs' POV**)

I was annoyed by Vance's request for an in-person update on our current case, but it also afforded me a good cover story for the announcement of the unexpected four-day weekend Tony wrangled for all of us. We'd talked about how to tell McGee and Ziva about the coming weekend off duty, but this was better than we could've ever planned.

It was a shame how the Admiral had died – all alone without friends or family nearby, but what concerned me was McGee's reaction. The victim probably reminded Tim of his father and I hoped Tony would recognize that and act appropriately – distracting his Probie from morose thoughts.

My meeting with Leon was short (just how I prefer them) and the only interesting thing about it was that it turned out our Admiral had been an acquaintance of the SecNav – hence the required in-person meeting about the case's status.

Glancing at my watch as I head back downstairs, I decide to stall in telling the team the good news in favor of letting the kids have a break for lunch. Guessing that Tim will go straight to Abby, I call down to remind her not to say anything about the weekend or the reason behind it. That she should make herself available this afternoon for the announcement.

_**(Wednesday, An hour or so before midnight – Gibbs' POV)**_

We'd been sitting on the stairs finishing our glasses of bourbon for a while (with Tony skimming through the project notebook every now and again) before my kid spoke up again.

"Gibbs, I've been thinking…"

"'Bout time," I snark.

Tony huffs out a fake guffaw and snarks right back, "Hilarious. It's a shame you're a Navy cop and not a comedian."

I give him a barely loaded glare and bump his elbow off his knee with my arm, "Your thought?"

"Boss, you need to tell the team about this weekend instead of me doing it. Pretend to see Vance to make the news seem more legit and official. If I tell them, McGee and Ziva might connect the dots to my meeting with the Director and then they'll harass me until they are satisfied they know everything."

"You really think they don't know or remember your anniversary is coming up?" I ask genuinely curious as to what he thinks.

"Don't know," he replies while shrugging. "It's not something we've ever discussed or even celebrated before, so I don't think they'd remember, think it important or even care about it. In my more uncharitable moments, I sometimes can't help but think that they often wonder why both you and Vance have kept me around this long." His shoulders drop a fraction in partial defeat, and his head bows so that it seems the amber liquid swirling around his glass is the most interesting thing in the world.

I can't help the spike of anger at the thought that he still has some doubts about his abilities as a federal agent even after all this time. Before I can say anything though, he continues, "They've seen my file enough times due to the number of times I've been accused of murder. It's not like they haven't had the opportunity to learn my official hire date. But, I'd just rather not go there. Please, Boss."

It makes more sense for me to deliver the news anyway, so I nod my okay and the tension that had been building in Tony's shoulders immediately begins to fade away.

"What scenario do you think they'll believe?" I ask.

"I was thinking that you—"

**(Thursday Midday continued – Gibbs' POV)**

A cup of coffee being set down in front of me brings me out of my thoughts of last night. I look up to find it's from Tony.

"I thought I sent you out to lunch."

"You did. I came back," he deadpans then smiles. "Breaking the news after lunch?"

"Yep," I reply and sip at the still scalding hot coffee.

"Think Abs and Duck can pull off acting surprised?"

"Hope so."

Tony lifts a hand to rub at the back of his neck, "Me too."

"Plans this weekend?"

"Not really… Might catch up on a few things like laundry and sleep."

"Dinner Sunday night?"

"Only if you come over to my place this time and let me cook. We could watch _Butch Cassidy_ for old times' sake."

"Sounds like a plan," I say looking forward to not only getting to try out Tony's recliner once again, but to spend time with one of my kids. And maybe on Saturday I could bribe Tony with pizza in exchange for helping me pick up the wood for his gift.

After lunch, I use the excuse of Ducky's phone call confirming Admiral White had indeed died of natural causes to invite him, Palmer and Abby up to the bullpen.

Once the trio arrived, Abby asked, "What's up, Bossman," in such a way that I was very nearly convinced she didn't know what she was about to hear.

I stand up and move to lean against the front of my desk before getting the whole team's attention.

"When I was upstairs earlier, Director Vance informed me of a scheduling error for the team. Instead of being off rotation for a three-day weekend next month, we've now got a four-day weekend _this_ weekend."

Abby jumps up and down, clearly excited, and claps her hands together saying, "Yay!" as she hugs me.

"All of us, Jethro? Even young Mr. Palmer?" Ducky asks without a hint that he already knows the answer.

"Yep. Once you've finished your work on today's case and anything else immediately pending, you're free to go. See you Tuesday."

I turn to go sit back down, but Abby captures me in another hug. "Thank you. Thank you."

"Don't thank me," I protest. "Thank whoever made the mistake."

As Abby, Palmer, and Ducky leave, I hear snatches of their conversation about what they might do this weekend. Abby's mentions a new band playing on Saturday night, and Ducky mentions the symphony, while Palmer plans on spending 'quality' time with his fiancée.

Abby and Ducky did a great job pretending they didn't have any prior knowledge about this weekend, and I didn't think Ziva or McGee suspected anything. Tony had played his part well (I had no doubt that he would), and my team was now discussing their own plans for the weekend.

I had a feeling Tony's stated plans to his teammates would not quite match what he'd told me.

**(Thursday Afternoon – Tony's POV)**

I can't believe how relieved I felt when Gibbs told the team about our unexpected and expanded weekend and that McGee and Ziva believed the cover story. And, in my opinion, Abs and Ducky had played their parts perfectly.

From the way my teammates were determinedly finishing their work, they either believed the story in full or just didn't care so long as they had the extra time off.

Tim starts up the inevitable conversation thinking he's probably a good dealer closer to being done than he thinks either Ziva or I are being the fastest typist among us.

He asks, "So, Ziva what are you going to do this weekend?"

Ziva continues to type for a minute but then stops and replies, "I do not know yet. A friend of mine is supposed to be in town this weekend. I did not think we would be able to get together so I will probably call them."

I just can't let the vague pronouns go by without comment. "What kind of friend, Ziva? A _boy_ friend? CI-Ray perhaps?"

"No, a _girl_ friend," she corrects in a tone of voice that dares me to think not-so-clean thoughts. I refuse to play along fully and only raise an eyebrow in response.

"And you Tim," Ziva asks deciding not to continue the game, "Have you decided what you will be doing this weekend?"

McGee uses typing his report as an excuse not to answer right away. "I thought I'd go visit my parents. Maybe take them out to dinner one night."

There's no way I'm going to tease Tim about that – not now that I have confirmation that today's case did indeed rattle him a bit.

Ziva smiles and says (perhaps a little wistfully), "That sounds like a wonderful idea. I am sure your parents would love to see you."

I nod in agreement and decide not to comment. At least my teammates can easily find out where their biological fathers are at any given time. It's anyone's guess where Senior is hanging out at any given moment. In an odd way, it's sort of comforting to me that I almost always know where Gibbs can be found.

"And you, Tony?" Ziva interrupts my musings about fathers. "What are you planning to do this weekend? Is there some unsuspecting woman you have your eye on?"

Hmm… How to answer since they'll never buy the truth that I plan on just relaxing this weekend. And there's no way I'm telling them Gibbs is coming over for dinner on Sunday.

"Well, Zi-vah, there's this beautiful brunette named Etta that I'd—."

"Etta?" Ziva interrupts just as I hear Gibbs coughing, or more like choking.

Oops. Bad timing. Of course Gibbs, who knows what I'm really doing and who would get who I really meant, would take a drink of coffee at the same time I announce the name.

"You OK, Boss?" I ask, wincing a bit in sympathy.

"Wrong pipe," he answers with another cough to clear his throat.

I send him a quick look of apology and he lifts a corner of his mouth in a near smile as his reply. At the same time, I'm also answering Ziva's question. "Yes, Etta. Short for Henrietta. Unfortunate name, but she's got great—"

"Assets?" Tim interjects.

"No, Probie. Give me some credit. Personality. She's got a great personality. Though I can't deny her assets aren't nice too," I retort and then give them my best playboy smile.

Tim shakes his head and braves asking Gibbs about his plans.

"Peace and quiet, but I need your reports first. Anytime people."

We all quickly resume working, but I sneak a look towards Gibbs. I honestly don't think he minded hearing about our plans – making sure his family had something to occupy themselves with during their time off. And I knew that Gibbs didn't mind me not mentioning my plans with him for Sunday either.

I may blab office gossip told to me 'in confidence' but I rarely ever give the whole story about what's going on my life, and Gibbs knows that. He understands why, and besides, he knows about most of the major disappointments in my life. And it's not like he divulges much about his personal life to us. So, he gets it.

Heck, a lot of what I do know about his life hasn't even come from him. For example, I have Franks to thank for what I know of Gibbs' Mexican hiatus, and Jackson for what tiny bit of knowledge I have of my boss as a kid. Not letting much of our true selves out is just how we roll. But despite that fact, we still somehow manage to understand where the other is coming from.

_**(Wednesday, Almost midnight – Tony's POV)**_

I yawn, and not for the first time. We'd finished our bourbons long ago, but both of us had been too lazy to get up for refills or anything else. I'd been enjoying just sitting there in Gibbs' silent and comforting company as I more thoroughly inspected the notebook he'd given me.

But now my butt was starting to hurt from sitting on the stairs for so long, and if my butt was hurting , then I can imagine Gibbs' must be too. I close the notebook and move to stand up, but my friend grabs my arm and holds me in place.

"I know what you told Vance about not wanting to be recognized, but what's the real reason?"

"I know why you don't show up to collect your awards, Gibbs. You're just doing your job. Helping people – it's what you do and you don't need recognition to keep on doing it. You also do it for the families of the victims – so that they know why their loved ones were taken away from them and that those responsible will be punished.

"I've been doing this job for ten years now. Why do I need recognition for that insignificant fact? Besides," I pause and laugh. "Can you imagine what everyone will think when I accept your next award and then practically turn right around for mine? _No, thank you_."

I shake my head at the thought of the snide remarks, no matter how harmless the intent, that were sure to come from not only my teammates but other coworkers. I can definitely skip all of that, thank you very much.

"Tony—"

"Gibbs, I don't need recognition for the fact that I'm still at NCIS, despite all expectations or for surviving (so far anyway) the machinations of various Directors and SecNavs. I'd much rather be recognized for how well I do the job and not just how long."

I yawn again and rub my eyes. Tired is such an inadequate description of how I felt at that moment.

Gibbs bumps my knee with his and says, "Bedtime."

"Way past," I reply and lever myself up from the stairs we'd nearly started to merge with at this point.

I stretch out my hand out to help Gibbs up, and then lay the notebook on the workbench. And as I wearily trek upstairs with thoughts of wonderful sleep in my near future, I hear from below, "There's clean sheets on the bed in your room. Don't forget to set your alarm."

I hold a hand up in acknowledgement of his Papa Bear ways and say, "G'night, Gibbs."

**(Thursday Afternoon continued – Tony's POV)**

Tim, proving his speed and proficiency with computers, finishes his work first – or so he thinks as he hands his report to Gibbs with a smug look on his face. I wondered what he would think if he knew that I had already turned in my report by email just after Gibbs informed us of Ducky's findings and just needed to print out a hard copy.

'Work smarter, not harder' was what I used to tell Kate. She never could figure out how I could goof off and yet still have my work done on time or the information Gibbs needed when he asked for it.

It's easy actually. I just keep all the information I compile during a case in one folder on my computer and add facts and details to a draft final report as we work the case. It usually doesn't take me very long to finalize my case report after we solve the latest mystery.

For the last while, I've actually been working on some reports I have to do as Gibbs' senior field agent, that I don't think McGee or Ziva have ever even realized were part of my job duties. McGee was never assigned these reports while Gibbs was in Mexico with Franks, because I had a feeling Boss would be back. Why bother taking the time to show him how to do all this stuff, right?

My teammates will find out someday though. I've no doubt they will be great senior field agents. In fact, I'm surprised no one's tried yet to steal away McGee to be their senior field agent. Maybe a little bit more seasoning…

I refrain from laughing as another thought crosses my mind. _Or maybe they're too afraid of Gibbs to even bother trying_.

Tim wishes us a good weekend as he leaves to which I reply, "See you Tuesday, Tim."

Ziva, not to be outdone for too long, finishes up barely ten minutes after McGee leaves. She wishes Gibbs a good night and a good weekend before grabbing her bag and saying to me, "Enjoy your time with what was her name? Oh yes, Etta."

"Oh, I _will_." She crinkles her nose in disgust at my lascivious tone and leaves. Once she's far enough away, I let loose a laugh.

"Am I going to get those reports sometime today?"

I hit 'print' on my version of the case report as well as two other reports.

"Printing now, Boss. One more report to finish, but it's not due until the first of November. I'll finish it up on Tuesday."

Gibbs nods and says, "Good work."

I staple the pages of the last report I'd printed together and hand it to Gibbs. "Just doin' my job, Boss." While shutting down my computer and gathering my stuff together, a thought occurs to me. "Do you think that Tim or Ziva suspected anything?"

"Nope."

"Good," I reply, relieved at my mentor's statement. "See you Sunday, Boss."

I stand and start to make my way out of the bullpen, but suddenly I stop when I get an idea. "Bring beer and come early. We'll watch the game."

Gibbs continues working, but nods his acceptance of my idea.

"Don't work too late," I suggest before hurrying away in order to escape the glare I know he's likely throwing my way right now.

**(Just over two weeks later, Saturday Morning, October 29, 2011 – Tony's POV)**

I check my watch as I leave the elevator and walk towards my desk. Right on time. Not bad for having to work on a Saturday, when sleeping in would've been my preference.

As I approach my desk, I notice that there is a bottle sitting on top of it of something in an eggplant-colored, velvety-looking gift bag – wine?

Having been distracted by the object sitting on top of my desk, it takes me an extra moment to realize that neither Ziva nor McGee are at their desks despite the obvious signs of their overall attendance today.

I shrug and sit – putting away my stuff before I reach for the gift bag.

Inside is a bottle of wine from a prestigious vineyard with a 2001 vintage. At the sight of the year, my gut gives a little flip before quickly settling.

Around the bottle's neck is a card. I open it and can't help the goofy smile that takes over my face.

I read the card again to make sure I hadn't hallucinated what it says. In elegant hand-written script, the card reads:

_ Ten years – Congratulations!  
>Ziva and Tim<em>

ooooooo

_To be concluded…_

**ooooooo**

**A/N:** My reasoning for Tony's official start date is as follows: During the first season episode, "The Curse" (1.05), Tony's mentions at the beginning that his two-year anniversary was the next day. That episode originally aired October 28, 2003 in the U.S., which to my mind meant that his official start date was October 29, 2001. For the purposes of this story the date is going to stick, but if anyone has a better guess, please let me know. Thanks! :o) BTW, did anyone notice the date I started posting this story? ;0]

The epilogue will be out tomorrow (aka Monday).

_**Thanks for reading!**_


	9. Chapter 9: Unprecedented

**Title**: Uncharacteristic

**Summary**: An uncharacteristically quiet day wreaks havoc with Team Gibbs.

**Disclaimer**: NCIS is not mine. I'm just borrowing the concepts and characters for a little while.

**Spoilers**: Takes place in season 9. Anything up to and including episode, 9.06 Thirst, is fair game.

**A/N**: I've wanted to see something like this chapter in the show for a long time now…

Thanks to _Gail Cregg_ for being cool about great minds thinking along the same lines. :o)

**ooooooo**

**Chapter Nine: Unprecedented (aka The Epilogue)** (Multiple POVs)

**(Some months later… Tony's POV)**

Standing at the back of the crowd gathered together for the awards ceremony, I clap my hands politely every time someone's name is announced.

Eventually Director Vance brings several groups of people up one at a time – all of whom have achieved a noteworthy number of years of service with the agency. When the three agents who have been with NCIS for ten years receive their ten-year pin, I allow myself to feel proud of my same milestone for a few moments.

I never thought I'd find a place where I wanted to stick around for longer than a couple of years, somewhere I belonged, or a family that I would do anything for. Though probably the family is going to ask me why my name wasn't mentioned at all just now. Hopefully Abby won't do something to the Director for his supposed oversight. I make a note to myself that I need to tell the team something in explanation.

Finally we come to the end of the awards ceremony. Only one more to go – the Meritorious Civilian Service Award. I've no doubt it will go to Gibbs again this year especially given the take down by our team of the Port-to-Port killer amongst other things.

And, sure enough, Vance announces Gibbs' name. As per usual, Boss is not here to receive his award and the Director gives me the nod to come forward to accept it for him.

I'm just about to start walking forward when a hand grabs my shoulder from behind. I turn and I swear my mind goes blank for half a second once I see who it is.

Gibbs.

Then my brain kicks back in and says, "Boss, what are you—?"

Gibbs squeezes my shoulder as he steps around me and says, "I've got this."

For the length of time it takes my friend and mentor to make his way through the similarly shocked crowd – even the greenest probie knows Gibbs avoids recognition like the…well, uh, never mind – my mind just goes with the flow.

But then suspicion slaps me in the back of the head. Gibbs would never come to one of these things unless he had a damn good reason or some ulterior motive. And that's when the clue bus hits me.

He wouldn't. Would he?

**(Some months later… Gibbs' POV)**

Because I hate these ceremonies with a passion and avoid them if I can, I end up arriving just in time to hear my name being announced. I hear the applause taper off awkwardly after a short time before I figure Vance gives up on my attendance and gives Tony the nod to come forward.

Just as he's about to step forward, I come around the corner and grab his shoulder to halt his movement. To say I shocked Tony is an understatement, but he manages to quickly recover enough of his wits to exclaim, "Boss, what are you—?"

I squeeze his shoulder in what I hope is a reassuring way before replying, "I've got this."

As I move forward, it's obvious the crowd is just as shocked as Tony is to see me. Though I must say Leon doesn't look all that surprised. Of course, besides Tony and me, Vance is the only one to know before today that DiNozzo requested he not be recognized at this ceremony. He probably guessed I wouldn't let Tony get away with his plan.

By the time Vance has handed me the award and congratulated me, I'm positive Tony has figured out why I'm here today at this ceremony for the very first time. I hope he'll understand why I'm doing this.

"As you all are no doubt aware, I don't usually show up to these things. Congratulations to all the other agents who have served time here, but an oversight has been made.

"In the mind of the agent I'm thinking of right now, there has been no oversight made. To him, ten years on the job, is ten years on the job. It's no big deal.

"And I know he insisted he not be recognized today because of this," I pause and hold up the award I'd just been given. "Every time I'm awarded one of the damn things, he accepts it for me. Some might think it's because he wants the attention or is brown-nosing or some other nonsense. Not the case at all.

"I hate these things because I don't do what I do for the awards, but because it's my job. My senior field agent, Anthony DiNozzo, picks these up for me because he's proud of the work we do as a team. He understands that it's not just _my_ award but the _whole team's_ award. We wouldn't have the solve rate we do without the work we do as a team.

"And so today, knowing I was to receive another one of these, Tony DiNozzo chose to forego recognition of his own accomplishment – serving ten years with me as his bastard of a boss."

I pause as a few people chuckle and nod knowingly. I lock eyes with Tony and continue, "This past October, DiNozzo reached ten years with this agency. He's one of the best agents I've ever had the privilege of working with." I reach into my pocket and hold up the ten-year pin that Tony gave to me a month ago. "My agent deserves this token and this moment of recognition just as much if not more for everything he's done for me and his team over the years."

"Congratulations, Anthony DiNozzo."

The room erupts in applause, but soon tapers off in confusion as DiNozzo doesn't step forward. I watch as Ziva and Tim look behind them to see that Tony is not there.

He'd stayed just long enough to hear the unprecedented amount of public praise from me to the assembled crowd.

Just before I had finished my speech, he awarded me with a part-shy, part-embarrassed smile.

Then he mouthed, "Thank you," and quietly left the room.

ooooooo

_The end._

**ooooooo**

**A/N:** It took me a long time to finish this story and I'm glad I stuck with it. I hope you enjoyed it… _**Thanks much to all those who read, reviewed, alerted and/or favorited this story! **_

_**And, an extra heap of gratitude to all those who reviewed every single chapter – Thank you! =]**_


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